Lifeblood
by Johanna's Motivational Insults
Summary: Johanna Mason always seems to know exactly what I need to hear, and deliver it with such brutal honesty that it can't possibly be ignored. Maybe she has known me better than anyone else all along.
1. Listen

A/N: Joniss, mid-Mockingjay to post-Mockingjay. I'm writing it as a series of what could be oneshots in chronological order, with some minor plot adjustments of course, but since we all know the story I'm pretty sure this plotline will still make sense even if it isn't especially unified. The major downside is that I tend to just write whichever segment I have the most inspiration for at the time, so I can't guarantee regular updates early on. I'll be using a mix of book and movie canon, and I hope it doesn't get too confusing. I tend to use movie versions of scenes that are in both, and then assume that additional scenes from the book happened off-screen, if that makes sense. Fair warning, I love my Joniss with angst and lots of tension (sexual or otherwise), so this may not be everyone's cup of tea. Rating is for non-graphic descriptions of violence and torture, drug use, smut, PTSD, and lots of profanity.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games or any of the characters. Some lines or passages are taken directly from canon or slightly altered.

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><p>"Should you really be dancing?" I meet Prim's concerned eyes that have just been lingering on my ribcage. I continue to move opposite her within the lines of reveling refugees and grin sheepishly, shake my head.<p>

"Probably not," I admit, "but I'll be fine. Really." She still looks unconvinced, so I add, "I wasn't going to, but Johanna pointed out that it's the best way to piss Snow off. It'll be great for the propo."

"So why isn't she dancing?" Prim asks.

"I don't know." We continue to step to the beat for a few moments before she pipes up again.

"You should ask her to." I blink in confusion.

"Ask who to what?"

"Ask Johanna to dance." I make a questioning face, and she smiles. "She's been having a really difficult time. She's getting better physically, but I worry about her head." I resist the temptation to point out that Johanna was basically insane to begin with. "Finnick's been so happy since they decided to hold the wedding, but between training and spending time with Annie, he hasn't been around to the hospital much. Beetee's always down in the dungeon somewhere, and Haymitch is still cranky from having to go sober – he's no fun for anyone to be around. And you were in Two. So she hasn't really had anyone to talk to, you know?" I glance over Prim's shoulder at the District Seven victor. She doesn't look particularly happy, but that's hardly abnormal. "Other than her head doctor, and I don't think that's really working out." Johanna catches my eye over Prim's back, and I quickly avert my gaze back to my sister.

"Do you see her much?"

"Well, she's eating in the dining hall with everyone now, but when she first got here I'd switch with the other nurses when I wasn't already assigned to her, so I could bring her her meals. Everyone else was so busy, but since I'm not an actual nurse I have a little more time to sit with people who need it." I smile proudly at the young woman in front of me, still so full of compassion and so attuned to other people's needs, even after all she's been through. Her selflessness reminds me of Peeta. I swallow down the painful lump forming in my throat at the thought of him, and how I'll never see that side of him again.

"That was sweet of you, little duck." She beams at me.

"I thought it was the least I could do. I saw how she tried to protect you in the Games. Holding onto you on the island, cutting out your tracker and leading the careers away. It was really scary, but I could see what she was trying to do." That makes one of us. "She asked about you, you know. When you were in Two."

"Did she?" That's quite a shock. I'd think my condition would hardly be of any importance to the older girl, considering that she had been nearly tortured to death herself. She's not exactly the definition of friendly towards me whenever we talk, either, which is actually quite often now that we share a room in the hospital. In fact, she seems to derive quite a bit of pleasure from antagonizing me and siphoning off my painkillers.

"Yeah, she wanted to know how your head had been. I think she was worried she'd left you with permanent brain damage."

"Not for lack of trying," I mutter. Prim's face crinkles and she shakes her head.

"Don't be like that, Katniss. You know she was just trying to save you. She did save you." My eyes drop to my feet. I do always tend to assume the worst of Johanna, probably unfairly. "She asked about your neck all the time, too. She got really angry when she heard what Peeta did to you."

"That wasn't Peeta," I snap. "He's not himself anymore."

"I know that," she assures me. After several steps of silence, she smiles and says, "At least we have each other." That, I can't argue with. I return the smile and squeeze my little sister's hands, lock eyes with her and vow to forget about my troubles for the night. I can't ruin what could be our last chance at a good time together before I go to the Capitol and likely get myself killed. I want to leave her with the best memories of me that I can.

My ribs really start to burn after a few dances, but I keep going for Prim's sake, and for the satisfaction of having Snow watch me dance with my little sister. The fiddler stops playing for a moment to take a swig of apple cider, and I gratefully take the opportunity to catch my breath.

"You're okay?" I look over at Prim and nod. My lips can't help but crack into a wide grin at the sight of her eyes gleaming with happiness. Despite the pain in my side, a warmth and security that I haven't felt in over a year has flooded my body since I pulled her onto the dance floor. Just when I think I couldn't feel any lighter, a small hand slips into mine and tests that theory. I peek over my left shoulder and find myself staring directly into the piercing brown eyes of my morphling leech. My heart jumps, as it instinctively does whenever Johanna is in close proximity. She did almost kill me that one time, after all.

"I meant with me, brainless." My eyebrows furrow as I try to place this comment, then take flight as I remember the last time we'd spoken, not twenty minutes ago. "Seriously, Twelve? You really didn't catch that?"

"I guess not," I mumble, averting my gaze back to my sister. My sister who just so happens to be watching us and grinning giddily. She jerks her head upward and shoots me a thumbs-up, to which I roll my eyes and turn fully around. "It's not like you offered me your hand, Mason," I retort playfully. "How was I to know?" Johanna says nothing, just takes my right hand in her left and cocks an eyebrow. When I don't object, she laces our fingers together and adjusts her other hand so it rests on my hip. I comply and grasp her shoulder as she begins leading us to the sluggish melody that is just starting up. I'm vaguely reminded of the last time I slow-danced, with Plutarch at Snow's mansion. That was just as forced, and even more uncomfortable. Johanna may have an intimidating presence, but at least she is familiar. I'm used to having her body close, sitting next to me on the beach, pinning me down as she dug in my forearm for that tracker…

I shake my head and blink to clear the jumble of emotions that well up whenever I consciously replay that moment. It was so gruesome, intimate, and quick that I've never managed to make much sense of it. I'm convinced that the concussion I had sustained mere seconds before that had altered my perception of the scene, nearly so much as it had been altered after the tracker jacker attack in my first Games. The only clear thought I'd managed then was that Peeta had just saved my life. But then Johanna had gone and saved my life in the Quell, and I'd been convinced that she was trying to kill me, even though she'd shown no signs of allying with my enemies like Peeta had. Of course, Peeta had the more affable personality of the two and wasn't known for trickery, but I still feel the weight of shame for assuming she had betrayed me, for not understanding that she wanted me to play dead and was leading the careers away. If Prim could see it, why couldn't I? I really must be brainless.

"Everdeen?" My eyes jump up and catch Johanna's amused gaze. "Quit staring at my boobs. We're not in the elevator anymore."

"What? No, I…" I sputter, my face and ears on fire. "I was _not_ staring at _that_. I was thinking, st-staring off into space."

"Oh yeah?" She smirks and leans in conspiratorially. "Enjoying the view of the planets?" I drop my hand from her deltoid and turn to stalk away in exasperation, but she grips our linked hands tighter and locks her elbow, tugging me back. "Wait. Katniss, wait." I can't help but turn around at the sudden sincerity in her tone, though I do shoot her an unamused glower to compensate. "I'm just messing with you. We all do it, you know? You're fun to tease." I try to deepen my glare, but must fail because Johanna just snorts mockingly. "At least I'm not kissing you uninvited like Chaff did. Stay and dance." I don't move. "Come on," she urges, her smirk beginning to resurface. Her eyes somehow manage to both twinkle and pout at the same time, and somewhere deep in my bones I know that I'll never be able to say no to that face. I feign reluctance as I place my hand on her upper arm again.

"If you insist," I sigh overdramatically. Her hand returns to its home on my hip, fingers tracing my waist on the way, and my eyes flutter shut as I let out a small breath of relief. I take a moment to recollect myself before daring to catch Johanna's eye again. She's watching me with narrowed, inquisitive eyes, but says nothing. "I must say, though," I start, eager to deflect, "Chaff kissing me was hardly the most shocking moment of that evening."

"Well," she purrs, pulling me closer to whisper in my ear, "I do like to make an impression."

"Oh, trust me, you have that down pat. A strip tease is nothing compared to basically cussing out the president on national television."

"I'm really proud of that one, actually," she grins as the final strains of the tune sound. I scan the floor in an attempt to find Prim again, but can't catch sight of her. I only then notice that the dance floor had cleared out but for a few couples during the slow interlude. I turn back to Johanna, not really sure how to extricate myself from her grasp or even if I want to. She seems just as paralyzed as I feel until spirited notes burst from the fiddle yet again. The dance floor springs back to life, as do my partner's eyes. "Hey Twelve, is this a song where you partner off individually?"

"It can be. Why," I drawl, "can't bear to leave me just yet?" I wink, surprising myself but apparently not fazing Johanna. Then again, she is known across Panem for her acting skills.

"Please," she groans," I can't wait. But Finnick is tied up with Annie and I doubt anybody else here will dance with me, so…" She moves her hand from my hip to my shoulder and runs it softly down my arm in a move that makes me shudder. "…I guess I'm stuck with you." Her hand finds mine on her shoulder and entwines our fingers. "Now, girl on fire," she intones softly, though her gaze is an intense as ever, "do you know any moves?"

"Uh…" I trail off, blinking down to the floor. "Depends on what kind?"

"Dance moves, you pervert."

"Who's the pervert?" I object, snapping my eyes back up to meet hers. "I just don't know what kind of dance moves you're talking about."

"Basic freeform partnered stuff," she grins at my frustration. "Duh, brainless. Like arches and loops and hand changes."

"Oh," I mumble, flushing again. "Yeah, I guess."

We manage to execute a few moves cleanly before colliding under an arch that Johanna has just created with our arms. "No no no, brainless," she chides, "pay attention. That arch was for me."

"Well how was I supposed to know that?" I protest. She responds too calmly, with reassuring eyes and a steady voice.

"You have to listen to what my body is telling yours." I'm not sure if the shiver that runs through me is due to her words or the way she runs her thumbs lightly over mine just after she utters them. As much as she claims I'm not paying attention to her touch, she's finding a way to make me hyperaware of every sensation. It's unnerving, to say the least, and not something I'm at all used to.

"Here, I'll show you the difference," she offers. Johanna lifts her left arm to create an arch, then pulls my left across her body to guide me under the arch before dropping that hand. After looping me back and taking me by both hands again, she raises her eyebrows in a silent command to pay attention. This time when she creates the arch, she pulls my left hand down and away from it in an exaggerated illustration of holding me still.

"Ohhh," I say as she drops my hand and moves through the arch herself. She loops me back into her grasp and cocks an eyebrow. "Yes, I get it now." She tests me by leading us into a few arches meant for either one of us, and I guess I pass because she smiles up at me and nods.

"Very good, mockingjay. Maybe we're all wrong about you." I squint at her as she continues to lead us in and out of those familiar moves and shift us along the floor.

"You mean about me being so pure or whatever? That thing with Chaff and Finnick?"

"No," Johanna chuckles lowly, genuinely, a far cry from her signature high-pitched sarcastic laugh. "That's not what I meant, though if you care to disprove that I'm sure no one would complain." I halt my feet and level what is supposed to be a menacing scowl at her, but it must not look very threatening because her grin is threatening to crack her chapped lips open. "Wow, lighten up, Everdeen."

"Whatever." She starts to move us again and I don't resist, despite my continued irritation. "So then what did you mean, _Mason_?"

"Haymitch tells me listening is not one of your fortés," she explains dryly, prompting me to roll my eyes. "Not that I didn't know that from experience. You didn't stay down like I told you to in the arena." That moment just keeps coming up tonight. I shift under her gaze.

"If I had, none of us would have escaped," I point out. "Beetee was out cold by then and wouldn't have been able to disable the force field." Johanna grunts and awards me a curt nod of assent. When her eyes lock with mine again, I add, "I follow my instincts."

I've never seen Johanna Mason hesitate, but I could swear she does for half a second before lifting my hands to rest on her shoulders. She moves both of her hands to my waist this time, and draws me half a step closer. My stomach flips and I feel poised to run from impending danger, but some part of me must enjoy this horrible feeling because I unconsciously loop my hands around her neck instead.

"That's worked out really well for you," she murmurs, beginning to drag the fingers of her right hand lightly up my stomach. I would protest verbally, but my throat has gone dry and my brain seems to have lost its ability to form words. Instead I can only twitch and gasp at the tickling sensation. I do finally manage to glare at her, but as she gently cups the bottom of my ribcage, she looks up at me with such an intensity that I forget I am annoyed. In fact, I forget everything. Everything except for where I've felt the fledgling warmth in my stomach before. The beach. Peeta. Yes, if she were Peeta or Gale, I'd swear she was about to kiss me. But she is neither.

"Up until you got yourself shot," she growls in a tone that rides the line between playful and angry, punctuating this with a firm prod to my bruised ribs. I recoil and cry out in pain, my forearms flying off her shoulders and into a defensive position in front of me. It is not necessary, as Johanna now seems content to simply stare me down, jaw tight and cheeks aflame. Her unexplained anger only stokes my own. My fists and face clench as I double over in agony.

"Fuck, Johanna!" If the nearby dancers hadn't been alerted to the situation by my initial reaction, they are certainly paying attention now; a number of pairs have turned their heads our way, and a small group has even stopped dancing entirely to observe the apparently impending showdown from a safe distance. But as quickly as it seemed to spring up and possess her, Johanna's anger appears to evaporate into a fit of laughter… high-pitched, sarcastic laughter. Now knowing the difference, I eye her warily and keep my arms safely between her and my ribcage.

"Maybe not so pure after all, eh?" I flip her off with the hand that's not clutching my side, but as I should have expected, this only widens her smile.

"Jo…" Finnick appears at her side and cautiously grasps her biceps from behind. "Don't make me dunk you like last time."

"Wow." My eyes widen at the girl's sudden hard and disbelieving tone as she swivels to face her friend. "Not funny, Finnick." Something registers in his face, and he swiftly pulls his hands back in surrender. He opens his mouth to reply, but she cuts him off. "I swear to god, you're just as brainless as the kid sometimes." This offends me on multiple levels, but I'm too preoccupied with trying not to vomit or faint to tell her off.

"Sorry," he mumbles contritely. "Really. But please, don't make me forcibly remove one of you. It's my wedding."

"I'm fine!" She protests. "We're fine." She tries to place a hand on my shoulder to assure him of this, but I swat it away.

"Clearly." The bronze-haired beauty gives us one more wary glance before returning to his wife. Johanna breathes out forcefully and emphatically cracks her neck, much like I remember her doing on the beach shortly after that traumatizing jabberjay incident that still haunts my nightmares. I swallow nervously as she looks down and catches my eye.

"Can you stand?" she asks resignedly. I narrow my eyes and shake my head in disbelief.

"What, are you gonna patch me up now? Kiss it all better?"

"Maybe if you ask nicely," she deadpans. I groan in frustration, drawing another chuckle out of her. I wince as I laboriously straighten up to regain my natural height advantage.

"What the hell is your problem?"

"Do you want the whole list, or just the highlights?" Fair enough, it was a stupid question to ask another victor, especially her. Between her claim of having no one left she loves and Finnick's tales of Capitol exploitation under duress, not to mention my own memories of her first games and her physical condition upon her arrival in Thirteen, I have some pretty good ideas. I shake my head softly in answer, and my eyes must betray where my mind has just been because she interjects, "Don't even start, Everdeen. I'm not one of your precious helpless victims you feel the need to risk your life for. I don't need saving."

"Fine," I retort.

"Good," she snaps. Our eyes continue to bore into each other's for a few moments. Hers slowly lose their fire, but still she doesn't look away. Neither do I, partly because I refuse to lose one more battle with her and partly because I don't think I could drag my eyes away even if I wanted to. She wets and then bites a corner of her lower lip, drags it slowly out of her teeth as I feel my jaw slacken. Johanna suddenly blinks hard and gives her head a slight shake. Her eyes study me curiously for a few seconds before they leave mine and dart around the room. I follow them automatically and am relieved to see we aren't the center of attention anymore, not to mention relieved to be released from that staring contest. Wait, did I actually just win a battle of wills against Johanna Mason? Next thing I know, I'll be hurling curse words and insults indiscriminately and prancing around naked.

"Well, dear miss Everdeen," she suddenly inflects in a Capitol accent, drawing my gaze back to her, "I think I shall retire from the dance floor for the evening. I fear that all these common district folk may infect me with their horrendous fashion sense and lowbrow taste in music." I am already grinning stupidly by the time she finishes, and fail to mask it with my hand in time. I clear my throat and run my fingers down and off my jaw, pulling my smile with them.

"I'd say it's been a pleasure," I reply, "but…" There is no need to finish that sentence verbally; I simply raise my eyebrows. Johanna smirks and swoops down into a dramatic curtsey.

"As always, darling mockingjay," she says in her normal, albeit extremely sarcastic voice. She reaches for my hand, but I don't swat her away this time. She grasps under my fingers and brings my hand to her face, dusts her lips over my knuckles. Her eyes refuse to leave mine this time, and have taken on a particular quality that I don't exactly recognize, but that makes my stomach clench and my knees wobble. She's kind of making me hate her more every second. "Let's do it again sometime." She stands and eyes me for a second longer, lightly squeezing my fingers. Then she abruptly drops my hand and sashays towards the edge of the room, swaying her hips as she somehow manages to gracefully bump her way through the crowd. I gape at her retreating form with an expression that is probably very similar to the one I wore when she first said those words to me.

"Earth to Katniss."

"Huh?" I blink up to see Gale standing not a foot away, concern etched on his face.

"I said, 'What did Johanna want?'" I stare after the smaller girl as she sidles up to Haymitch and Effie near the exit. She glances back at me and smirks when she catches me still gawking. As she throws me a wink, I ponder the fact that Gale has basically just asked one of the deep, existential questions of the universe. I do have an answer for it on a more superficial level, however.

"To insult, humilate, and injure me. You know, the usual."

***o***

I'd been sorely tempted to find a hiding place to disappear into after my latest encounter with Peeta, but the screaming pain in my ribs had drawn me back to my hospital bed, or more specifically, my morphling drip. I'd gingerly crawled into bed not long after midnight, adjusted it to the semi-sitting position that seems to minimize the burning in my side, and punched in my access code to self-administer the drug. After a few impatient minutes of feeling lighter but still in far too much pain, I'd entered the code I'd once spied a nurse using to access the administrative functions, including dosage per minute. I had probably turned it up to an unsafe level, but all that mattered at that moment were the aches in my ribs and my heart, both of which I just needed to stop. I didn't really care if I accidentally overdosed anyway.

It is now past twelve-thirty, and I'm feeling less pain but still plenty of confusion. I don't understand why I'm so angry with Peeta or why his words cut so deeply, but I also don't understand why he is so judgmental of my motives. Doesn't he realize that everything I had done had been to protect him or my family? Sure, that family includes Gale, but he had acknowledged that on the beach with his locket of pictures, and had seemed perfectly happy to give up his own life to ensure my safe return to them despite my own wishes to save him. He had been so considerate then, so understanding of the position I was in and that I was only trying to keep all my loved ones, including him, from getting hurt. Of course, whenever I try to keep someone from getting hurt, I only end hurting more people, starting wars, things like that. But at least Peeta had not doubted my good intentions back then. What had changed?

Everything had changed, of course. He had been tortured, hijacked. He had been brainwashed into this suspicion of me. His words echo in my head. I must have loved you a lot. I must have. Have. I swallow and blink back tears, and roll my head to the side to study the bag of morphling hanging only feet away. I briefly consider dialing it up even higher in hopes of blocking out any feelings completely, but then my eyes move past it to the empty bed between me and the door. No, I have to control myself, or I'll end up siphoning morphling from unconscious patients like some kind of addict. As I move my head back and refocus my eyes on the ceiling, I determine resignedly that I'll just have to live with these tortured thoughts. I catch that last thought and suddenly want to slap myself. I have to stop using that word; it only cheapens the horrors that Peeta and Johanna must have endured. No wonder they both hate me.

"Hey." Johanna's voice jerks me from my thoughts, and I probably would have jumped were it not for the sedating drug coursing through my bloodstream. She has already closed the door behind her and is standing at the foot of her bed. Either she has retained her ability to move stealthily, or I am much less lucid than I realize. I quickly rub my eyes to hide the evidence of my distress and fake a yawn to disguise the reason for that action.

"Hey," I respond as she steps closer to peer at me in the dim light of the emergency lamps.

"You look like shit," she remarks casually.

"Aw, thanks," I jeer, "you too." I'm hardly surprised when she grins in response to that. It's like insults are compliments to her. "Where have you been?"

"Wandering the halls. Couldn't sleep." She eyes up my IV, unconsciously running her thumb over the inside of her left elbow. Of course. She couldn't use it when I wasn't in the room. If a nurse or doctor walked in and she was on my bed and the drip was functional, she couldn't just pop the needle back into my socket and pretend it had only been a social visit. Even if she wanted to try to take a hit alone, I hadn't given her my code; I'd been afraid to let her use unsupervised. She's been borrowing from me regularly since I got back, and it's been a good ten hours since she was last hooked up to the drip. No wonder she can't sleep. But given my current condition and how it came to be, I don't feel all that much sympathy for the other girl.

"Sorry," I snark, "can't share tonight, need all I can get. Some mentally disoriented asshole assaulted me at the wedding and aggravated my injury." I guess she doesn't catch the touch of humor in my voice, because her eyes briefly widen in surprise before narrowing in anger. She abruptly whips the curtain between our beds shut.

"Bitch," I barely hear her mutter before the distinct sound of her bellyflopping onto the bed echoes through the room. I sigh and reevaluate my actions and motives. She had completely deserved that earful for attacking me for no apparent reason, but in all honesty, I had expected her to demand the drug anyway or at least respond in kind. She is so difficult to pin down. Understand, that is. Although if my memories from the training center are correct, that is also true in another sense. Johanna grunts as she adjusts her positioning on her bed, snapping me back to the present. Yes, Prim is right. Johanna has been through a lot and hasn't had anyone to lean on for support, not that she would ever admit to needing it. I should at least try to fill that void in any way that I can.

"Johanna?" I call across the curtain. I'm met with silence, so I try another tactic. "Johanna Fucking Mason."

"What?" she grouches, her voice muffled in her pillow.

"Just come on," I grumble. "I've got plenty." As I hear her practically scampering off the bed, I struggle to detach the needle from my socket. Johanna comes around the curtain and first looks at the needle I'm just managing to extract, then at my face. She suddenly takes two big steps towards me and bends down to look me dead in the eye, then just as quickly stands back up and turns her attention to the control pad of the morphling drip.

"Shit, Twelve, you're all doped up!" She takes the needle from my hand, something vaguely resembling concern crossing her features. "When did they increase your dose?" She winces and hisses as she pokes the needle directly into the crook of her elbow.

"Hey, where'd your socket go?"

"What, you didn't notice it was gone earlier?" I shake my head. "Typical. As for my socket, the doctors removed it this afternoon after 'fully weaning me off the drug.'"

She sighs in relief as the morphling starts to take effect, and eases herself down onto the side of my bed. I ignore the kernel of guilt I feel over perhaps hindering her recovery. She had risked her own life in attempts to save mine at least twice, and this may be the only way I'll ever get to repay that debt in a way she will recognize. She'd be just as grateful to me and assured of my goodwill over denying her my morphling supply as I was right after she knocked me halfway unconscious and sliced my arm open. My good intentions would not sway her opinion on the issue. Long-term rewards don't matter much to victors.

"Fuck," Johanna exhales, drawing out the syllable as she sinks backwards to loll across my thighs. I suddenly feel much less relaxed, despite the drug's influence. That nugget of fire is back in my stomach, much to my annoyance. The older girl lets her head and shoulders droop off the side of my bed, and the arching of her back drags her shirt up several inches. A thin strip of skin peeks out, beckoning my eyes, and my stomach clenches as that heat begins to build against my will. When a soft, breathy moan escapes Johanna's lips, the spasms and fire suddenly strike about eight inches lower. I stare down at my midsection in disbelief. This is beyond messed up – I must have overdosed after all. The sensation only increases as she turns onto her left side to face me, rolling onto my pelvis in the process. I struggle to keep my face neutral as she raises her head to regain eye contact.

"Hey," says Johanna, "you never answered my question."

I swallow and manage to get out, "Which one?"

"When did the doctors increase your dosage, brainless?"

"They didn't," I admit. "I peeked and saw the code the nurse was punching in to gain access. A few days ago."

"What? And you didn't let me use it to get stronger doses?" I shrug. "I could have been in and out of here in a flash each time if I got it stronger. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Maybe because I like making you wait." She shoots me a look and I add, "Maybe because I don't want you to turn into one of those freaks from Six either." Maybe because some masochistic part of me sort of enjoys her company, too. But I'm not about to tell her that.

"I told you," she insists, "I don't need saving." I roll my eyes and lean forward a touch, bracing my weight on my hands, despite the stab of pain that the morphling can only dull.

"You know, for the record," I declare, "you don't strike me as helpless. Never have. Not even in your first Games." She raises her eyebrows. "You didn't fool me with your crying, wimpy, 'oh I can't even handle an axe when I'm from Seven' act." Johanna grins at my sarcastic falsetto and shrugs.

"Fooled everyone else, didn't it?" When I don't reply, she narrows her eyes and prods, "What gave it away?"

"Your eyes betrayed you," I state assuredly. She squints further, and I continue, "There was fire there. You were pissed and you weren't going to go down without a fight." I hardly notice myself mumble, "I recognized so much of myself in you." Her expression is suddenly unreadable, so I quickly add, "So, no, you didn't fool me. Not for a second."

"Well then I guess I should be grateful you didn't get reaped that year," she teases. The mental image of my malnourished 13 year-old self, just finding my confidence to operate as an adult and hardly the archery expert I was three years later, having to face off against a small but fully developed, underfed yet decently muscled, completely vicious lumberjack makes me think that I should be the grateful one. But of course, that is what she is implying; I should have caught that right away. I can't help but crack a wry smile when I nod, a small snort escaping from my nose.

"Can you imagine?" I snigger. "That'd hardly be a fair fight." Half of her mouth arcs up to return the smile.

"Please, your picture would have been in the sky long before I started killing anyone." The intended joke has just the opposite effect, wiping the levity from our faces. I slump back against the angled portion of the bed and she looks down at my stomach. "You were just a kid," she adds in a small voice.

"Well," I grumble, reminded of one of the many insults she'd hurled at me on the dance floor, "according to you, I still am."

"No, Everdeen," she drawls, the drug seeping into her voice. She points at me and adds with a hint of a smirk, "You a woman. You just need a lot of supervision." I give her a dirty look and she shakes her head, her expression drooping again. "You're not a kid. You lost that privilege when you got reaped."

"I lost it long before that." Johanna arches a questioning eyebrow, but I blink away. I don't want to talk about my parents right now. My attention is pulled back to her by the sound of a breathy grunt, and I see she has pulled the needle back out of her arm.

"Here," she murmurs, extending it in my direction, "I think you might need this more than I do."

"No way." I shake my head and raise a palm to reject the offer. "That's not sterile now."

"What," she taunts, "you gonna tell the nurses you need a new needle because you let me steal your morphling?" A corner of my mouth twitches in acknowledgement. "Besides, Twelve, what kind of blood-borne diseases do you think I have?"

"That depends on how often you like to take all your clothes off in front of complete strangers," I deadpan. Johanna barks out a laugh, falling back onto my thighs and clutching her stomach. I can't stop myself from smiling in satisfaction at getting another genuine laugh out of her, one that has gone on for several seconds now. That might just be the drug's influence, though.

"Oh my god, Katniss." She rolls up onto my pelvis again and I have to resist the urge to shift my body under her weight, shift my eyes under her gaze. "I think…" She points the needle directly at me, her eyes a touch unfocused. "…I think I like you." Well, I'll admit I definitely never expected those words to fall from Johanna's lips. My throat is suddenly dry, and all of my body hair must be standing on end. After all, a drugged-up woman with a history of injuring me is inches away from rolling onto my wounded ribs or impaling me with a dirty needle.

"Here, just give me the damn drip," I mutter. "I think you've had enough."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she objects, but hands it over before collapsing prone on my hips with a sleepy grunt. I seriously cannot take the pressure of her weight anymore.

"Johanna." I elbow her on my way to plug the needle back into my socket, but she only groans in protest. "Johanna, I need you to move. You're squishing me." She stays silent this time. I roll my eyes as I finish reattaching the drip, and then move both hands to give her a firm shake. "Seriously, get off!"

"Mmm," she mumbles, "if only it were that easy." It takes me a moment to understand the joke, but when I do I instantly feel my cheeks flare up.

"Pervert." I duck my chin to hide the blush now creeping down my neck. "Here, just-" Despite her grunts of objection and what feels like spikes being driven into my side, I roll and rotate the girl so most of her weight is on the edge of the bed or over my legs. I inch myself to the left by about a foot, wincing at another strike of pain, before pulling her back onto her stomach beside me. She must be as uncomfortable as she looks, with her back awkwardly extended and her face driven into the mattress, because she finally moves of her own accord. She turns over and scoots up to sit beside me.

"You're no fun," she grumbles with surprising clarity. I turn to glare incredulously at the woman.

"Are you seriously still lucid right now?" She places a hand over her mouth in a mock 'oops' gesture. I could punch her. I do punch her.

"Ouch!" She rubs her arm gingerly, but honestly looks more impressed than upset.

"That really hurt my ribs, you asshole! If I can't move tomorrow, I'm blaming you."

"You should be blaming me anyway," she points out with a grin. I barely have time to sigh in exasperation before she pinches the skin above my hip. I slap her hand away forcefully and turn to bellow in her face.

"Will you fucking stop?" Her expression drops, as though she only now registered my seriousness. And this idiot calls me brainless. "I have had it, okay? I can't take any more abuse tonight! Just…" I fall back against the bed and let out a deep sigh. "Just lay off me, for once in your life. I can't deal with this right now." I don't meet her gaze, but I can feel Johanna's eyes analyzing me.

"What's wrong?" she finally asks.

"Nothing!" I snap, turning my head away from her and wishing I could turn the rest of me too. But no thanks to her, I can't lie on that side.

"Is he still that bad?" My mouth and eyes widen in shock. I turn back to face her.

"How did you-"

"I saw you talking to Haymitch after they wheeled his cake out," she explains. "When you weren't back here after the filming ended, I put two and two together."

"Oh." Half of the reason I'd doped myself up was the hope that I could forget about Peeta for the night, but I don't think Johanna is going to let that happen. She is the biggest pain in the butt. Not to mention the ribs. And the head.

"So how is he?" she asks again. I want to be mad at her, but she seems genuinely concerned.

"What do you care about Peeta?" I deflect. "You guys only kept him alive in the arena so I wouldn't go running off on my own."

"Not true." She shakes her head. "Peeta could have been a great asset for the rebellion with or without you. He has a way with words that can convince the masses to think anything, do anything." So it turns out I was still correct when I sussed that out myself during the Quell, when I realized that she and Finnick were protecting him. I just missed the pieces of the puzzle that involved their protection of me, and our rescue. So, most of it. "Anyway," she explains, "we had cells next to each other in the Capitol. His screams woke me up at night." She blinks down to her hands in her lap. "They still do."

My chest and abdomen constrict painfully, for Johanna and for Peeta. I don't know what to say. I don't know how to fix this. I can't fix this. Maybe if she were Peeta or Gale, I would plant a kiss on her lips because it's all I could think of to appease the suffering for a moment. Gale is right – I do have a habit of doing that. But I am really not in a kissing mood right now, and if I did kiss her she would probably slap me anyway. I decide that the next best thing I can do is answer her question honestly.

"Well, he did the cake, and Haymitch said they had a conversation and he seemed almost normal. He's functional." Johanna looks up and motions for me to continue. I oblige begrudgingly. "He doesn't think I'm a mutt anymore." I squeeze my eyes shut at the feeling of my stomach turning painfully. My voice cracks as I add, "He doesn't think I'm much of anything anymore." I open my eyes expecting to see Johanna wearing a mocking expression, expecting to hear her taunting me for my weakness. To my surprise, she merely looks pensive and maybe a touch concerned, but I'm not sure whether that's for me or for Peeta.

"What makes you think that?" she prods.

"Oh, I don't know," I reply sarcastically, "maybe how he called me a piece of work and accused me of faking my feelings for him."

"If you hadn't, he'd be dead, brainless," Johanna points out. "So you hurt his feelings. Boo-fuckity-hoo. I gave you a concussion and a nasty scar, but you got out alive and that's what's important. It's the same for him. The collateral damage doesn't matter in the end. Muffin Man lived to bake another cake and he should be grateful to you, if anything."

"Thank you!" I state emphatically. "I'm glad someone else sees it that way." A ghost of a smile appears on Johanna's lips, and I try to return it, but my face quickly falls. "The thing is, he's not wrong. Maybe what the Capitol did was actually the opposite of brainwashing." I choke out a laugh. "I guess he can finally see me for who I really am. I'm violent, distrustful, manipulative-"

"Stop." Since when do I listen to Johanna Mason? In fact, since when do I take orders from anyone? Apparently, right now. She says the word quietly, but seriously. I meet her hard gaze, and could probably not say another word even if I tried. "That's not who you are, Katniss." I shake my head. "I'm serious."

"It's true, though," I contend. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not," she insists. "All of those words describe you at times, sure. But they don't define you, and there are so many other ones you missed. Compassionate. Moral. Brave. Stupid." I side-eye her at that last adjective, and she chuckles, "You wanted me to be honest." I exhale and let my head loll to the side and rest against the bed, refusing to lose eye contact despite my drooping eyelids. The morphling is really starting to kick in again.

"Since when do you even like me?" I ask wearily.

"Didn't I just tell you I like you? Like not even five minutes ago, brainless?"

"Yeah," I snort, "you like me for my morphling." Johanna glances from my face to the needle in my arm, and then back to my face.

"Actually, I don't really like you at all," she says decidedly. I think I see a hint of a smile peeking through her mask, but if there was, she hides it again just as quickly. "I'm just not blind," she adds. "I wouldn't have protected you with my life if you weren't valuable." Of course I am valuable to the revolution, but I'm not sure if that's all she meant. I'm kind of afraid to ask. Mostly because I'm afraid that that is all she meant, and I'm sick of being a symbol but not a person.

"Well," I grumble, shifting on the bed, "I'll try to take that as a compliment." She waits until I turn back to her before nodding, looking intently into my eyes.

"It was."

* * *

><p>AN: There is a reason why Johanna jabbed Katniss during the dancing, by the way. She was not (just) being a bitch. We will get to that later.

Let me know what you think! I have been attempting to write using a voice/narration style that's similar to the books, just with more physical description and perhaps at a slightly higher level of diction, so I'd especially appreciate reviews that mention if it still sounds like Katniss. I'll try to get the next chapter up within the next few weeks, I just have to decide exactly what's going in it first. And I'm super anal about my writing, so I won't post it until I love it.


	2. Lie

A/N: I did post a warning earlier about the angst and (sexual and/or non-sexual) tension, right? Right. Like I said, it might not be everyone's cup of tea. (But it's still not as depressing as Mockingjay. It's an angsty rewrite of an angsty book, what can I say?)

* * *

><p>"Fuck you. Fuck you and your goddamn ribs, you fucking pussy. Can't even run a fucking mile, and have to take me down with you. Fucking selfish prick." I merely close my eyes and sigh in response to this latest outburst. I don't have the energy to be indignant anymore. "When I start puking," Johanna threatens, "I'm gonna make sure it's all over you." I wrinkle my nose.<p>

"That's disgusting."

"You're disgusting." I scoff. "You are. You're one nasty sack of shit, Everdeen."

"At least I'm not the one who's all pale and clammy and shivering."

"At least I'm not the one who's about to be covered in puke."

We've been going on like this for several hours by now. Honestly, it might be all that's keeping us in halfway decent spirits. If we weren't trading verbal barbs, we'd probably both be crying. I don't think I've ever felt stronger pain than this, not even when I took Thread's whip to the face. Johanna may not be in the same physical pain, but given how miserable Haymitch has been since being forced into sobriety, I'm sure withdrawal is no picnic either. I hear her get up, and start to move to defend myself, but then let out a yelp and have to drop back down on the bed. Lying there is painful enough. Movement is excruciating. Johanna's standing over me now, and I resign myself to the fact that I'm at the mercy of her tongue and fists and stomach contents.

"Are you actually going to puke on me?" I ask, raising a wary eyebrow.

"No," she says, pulling over one of the chairs that live up against the wall between our beds, so that she can sit down close by without having to jostle me. How oddly considerate of her. "I'm in that horrible state where I just know I'd feel so much better if I could puke, but I can't." She slumps down into the chair and lets out a heavy sigh. "Hopefully later."

"And hopefully not on me."

"You deserve it, you fucking bitch," she growls. "This is all your fault."

"It's kind of your fault, actually," I argue. "If you hadn't gone and aggravated my ribs, maybe I wouldn't have needed to get this treatment done. And then you'd still have your precious morphling."

"Please," she scoffs, "I barely touched you. You weren't any worse off by a couple days later. I know that because you came running down here bitching about how you didn't get to go to the bloody Capitol because you blew off your training. You could move and yell just fine, as I recall."

"Well maybe I would have been just better enough not to need it." I can hear the edge seeping back into my voice. I guess I do have the energy to be pissed off after all.

"Bullshit." Johanna shakes her head firmly. "York said they'd take a month to heal without it based on your injury. Not my fault."

"It was still totally uncalled for," I fume.

"It was for your own good," she dismisses me with a wave of her hand. "You needed some sense poked into you." What the hell? This girl's logic is beyond me. And yet somehow, I still dislike the fact that I seem to have disappointed her.

"I don't understand," I groan in frustration, meeting her eye earnestly. "Why were you so mad at me in the first place?"

She lets out this huge exasperated sigh, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and gripes, "Because you're an idiot and you're going to get yourself killed if you keep running into dangerous situations like you did in Two."

"I don't see how that's your problem." I didn't mean for that to be an insult, but Johanna's face tells me that I might as well have just slapped her. I didn't know before now that I was capable of hurting Johanna Mason's feelings. I wasn't even sure she had any. She opens her mouth to speak, but catches herself before any words spill out. She screws her eyes shut and shakes her head sharply.

"It's everybody's problem, brainless. Don't you listen to a word I say? It's everybody's job to keep you alive." I do listen to her words. I remember this as the reason she gave for hating me when I first woke up after being shot, other than just finding me to be generally annoying. But I am learning to listen to her body too now, and it is abundantly clear from the set of her jaw and the darkness in her eyes that there is something she is not telling me. I gingerly move my left arm so I can reach out to lay a comforting hand on her, but she is too far away, so I can do nothing but drop it limply off the bed.

"I'm sorry, Johanna."

"No, you're not." Her voice is oddly soft as she says this, and my brow automatically furrows. "You can't be sorry if you don't understand what it is you're sorry for."

"You're right," I admit, "I don't understand. That wasn't meant to be offensive, you know. Care to explain?" She shakes her head and looks down at her feet.

"If you can't work that out for yourself, mockingjay," she mumbles forlornly, "you're even more brainless than I thought." Her thumb starts rubbing the crook of her left elbow, and I am again swamped with guilt. What else is new?

"Johanna." She looks up cautiously, and I raise a beckoning finger. "Give me your arm." She narrows her eyes, but scoots the chair a bit closer.

"Last time someone said that to me, he injected a fucking tracker," she says with a hint of trepidation.

"I'm not going to hurt you," I assure her. "Come closer." She obeys, pulling the chair so her shins are pressed up against the frame of the hospital bed, and then lays her right arm across my stomach. "The other one, brainless," I say without thinking. She looks just as surprised as I am at my words, but lets it go.

"Force of habit," she explains while switching arms. I grasp her forearm with my right hand and move my left to her elbow. When my thumb begins massaging the spot hers just left, I hear a sharp intake of breath and look back to Johanna's face. I must have really caught her off guard, because vulnerability and surprise are plastered all over it, and I could swear she's about to start crying. She blinks a few times and forces out a wry smile. "I didn't even realize I was doing that," she admits. I nod and silently continue the movement. Johanna eventually drops her head so her forehead is resting on the edge of the bed, and exhales deeply. I run my right hand down to meet her fingers and interlock them with my own. I give her hand a gentle squeeze and keep rubbing. I don't know how long this goes on for, but it's a lot more enjoyable than trading insults from across the room, so I'm in no hurry to stop. It's distracting me from my own pain, anyway.

"I'm sorry you're having to go through this," I finally say, after what feels kind of like seconds and kind of like hours. "Really." Johanna moves her right forearm onto the bed and raises her head to rest her chin on it and look me in the eye. I was right – there are a few glistening streaks down her cheeks. "I shouldn't have kept giving it to you," I lament. "I should've just let the doctors do their thing and wean you off of it slowly. It wouldn't have been this bad." She chuckles and shakes her head.

"That part isn't your fault. I wouldn't have taken no for an answer, brainless." I smile, and she attempts to do the same. She is right, of course. I shouldn't blame myself for something I had no control over, though I know I do that all the time.

"I know," I say. "And I knew I had no right to refuse given all that had happened." I consider stopping here, but decide to admit, "And I didn't want you to hate me." Johanna smiles easily this time, and I start to think that maybe we're in for a sappy moment. Until she speaks again, that is.

"Too late," she teases, a giant smirk present on her lips and even infiltrating her eyes. Well, maybe this is still a sappy moment by our standards. I can't help but snort out a laugh, but then instantly cringe and moan at the pain I just caused myself, my left hand shooting over to cradle my sore spot. Johanna shakes her hand free and brings it to rest on top of mine. "Are you okay?" she asks earnestly.

"Peachy, Seven," I grunt. She grins again.

"That's my girl." I hold her gaze for a moment, and feel a swell of pride despite my physical discomfort. Her eyes look much less pained, at least for the time being. I did that. She breaks eye contact to look past me at the clock on my bedside table, and then abruptly sits up straighter. "We've got to get going."

"Seriously?" I groan.

"Yeah, we're due in the dining hall in fifteen." The lights suddenly flick on, as if to prove her point. I squeeze my eyes shut tightly and cover my face with my hands. It can't be morning yet.

"Are you actually capable of eating?" I mumble past my palms.

"I'm going to try," she declares, and I hear her stand up and move the chair back to its usual spot. "I can't work out on an empty stomach. And neither can you." I crack open my eyes to see that she is standing over me again. "Get up," she orders brusquely. When I don't move, she tosses my covers aside, grabs my legs, and pulls them over the side of the bed so my feet land on the floor. I'd hardly had time to groan in protest. She stands back up, impossibly close, and looks me dead in the eye. I gulp automatically, although she really would look much more intimidating if she weren't a sick greenish color and shaking like a leaf. "Come on," she urges me, "we have to get to training."

"I don't think I can do it," I confess.

"You can do it. We both can. We're victors, remember? We're the ones who can survive anything they throw at us," she snarls at me. She disappears behind the half-drawn curtain to access the clothes in her bedside table, and is probably mostly dressed by the time I have made my way around my bed and grabbed my own clothes. I am able to lift my arms to remove my hospital gown, but it hurts like hell. I pull on a bra and t-shirt, but when I try to bend over to put underwear on, I let out a wail of pain before I even reach halfway down my shins.

"You okay?" Johanna pulls back the curtain and catches an eyeful of me bent over my naked lower half. I immediately cover my groin with my hands and glare at her. I am honestly surprised that she hadn't whipped the curtain back earlier and given me a free show of herself changing, since that seems to be her style, but I guess shock value isn't her biggest concern right now. She looks like she's trying not to laugh for a second, but then eyes me sympathetically. "Do you need some help, Everdeen?"

"That depends," I snark. "Can you not be a pervert for thirty seconds?"

"Maybe twenty." She wiggles her eyebrows at me as she rounds my bed, and I am careful to turn according to her position so she never gets a good view of my butt. "Calm down," she teases, "if I really wanted to check you out, I could knock your hands away in a second right now." She guides me backwards so I'm half-sitting on the edge of the bed, in a move that makes my stomach turn. "Besides," she chuckles as she kneels down in front of me, "your ass probably isn't as nice as Finnick's." This brings a question back to my mind that I'd first pondered during the Quell, and now that I know that Finnick hasn't always loved Annie, curiosity gets the better of me.

"So have you two…" She looks up at me from the ground, and I feel my diaphragm constrict uncomfortably. "You know." I lift one hand to make a gesture for her to continue that thought on her own. Her face splits into a grin.

"I think you mean this?" She grabs my hand and bends my ring and pinky finger to my palm, and then repeatedly thrusts my first two fingers in and out of the loose fist she has just created with her other hand. I don't think I've ever turned redder in my life. Johanna just laughs and plucks the underwear from my hand that's still over my crotch, and then sits back on her calves. She pauses to examine the tight miniature shorts and comments, "I like this style too," as if this had to become any more embarrassing. It isn't until she has poked my feet through the leg holes and handed the underwear to me above my knees that I am able to speak again.

"I guess your twenty seconds is up," I comment as I stand to pull the shorts over my hips. I pick my pants up off the bed and hand them to her before sitting back down.

"You started it," she points out as she guides the waistband over one foot and bunches the pant leg up over my lower leg. "You asked." I can't argue with that, so I don't bother trying. She has just finished repeating the action on the other side when she adds, "No."

"No what?" I query, squinting down at the girl.

"To your question, brainless," she replies, catching my eye again with a hint of a smile. "No." I somehow feel relieved. I'm too distracted by our conversation to grab the top of the pants that she's now raised above my knees, so she rolls her eyes and stands up, pulling them up with her. "Finnick's just Finnick. Most of the victors have seen his ass at some point or another," she explains as the pants reach the bottom of my butt and I'm forced to stand up. "Hell, most of the country has."

"I've seen him in his underwear," I contribute. She wrestles the pants up over my hips and smirks.

"I'm sure that was very traumatizing for everyone's favorite virgin." I scowl at her and she laughs, "What? You're a terrible liar. It's not like I even need to ask to know that your and your 'husband' never did the do. Poor boy's probably never seen boobs in his life. Other than mine, of course." As I quietly fume over the many horrible things she just managed to pack into that ten seconds, she looks down at the pants that she is still grasping at my waist and gives them another tug. "Do I have to do these up for you too, or are you capable of managing that on your own?" I suddenly shove her backwards, and she stumbles back the five feet to the wall before hitting it hard. Her eyes widen as I take a step closer.

"Fuck you, Mason!" I spit. The woman stares up at me with a similar look on her face as when she kissed my knuckles on the dance floor, only perhaps more surprised. And just like it did then, it makes me uneasy now. After a few seconds, she grins and pushes off the wall to come clap me on the shoulder.

"Alright, the girl on fire burns again!" she cheers. I swat her off of me and storm away.

"Go to hell!" I call over my shoulder as I fasten my pants on the way out the door, slowing only briefly to jam my feet haphazardly into my ill-fitting shoes. I can hear her hot on my heels by the time she replies.

"Already there, darling."

***o***

It's a merciful miracle that my ribs are in a little less pain by the afternoon, because if they weren't, even the small bit of recoil from the guns we are shooting would have been unbearable. The fact that my injured side is not my shooting side also probably helps in that regard. I empty my magazine for the umpteenth time this afternoon and step back from the line to reload.

"Nice round, Twelve," Johanna remarks from beside me, looking clearly impressed and perhaps a bit jealous.

"It's a lot like shooting a bow," I shrug. "You'll get the hang of it." She nods, pulls her ear protection on and steps up to fire at the group of targets we have been sharing for the last couple of hours. She would probably be getting the hang of it faster if we weren't isolated over here at the farthest set of targets from the compound, far away from Soldier York and her instruction, but Johanna had insisted that she didn't want York breathing down her neck while she practiced. I'm pretty sure it actually has more to do with her not wanting York to notice her deteriorating condition, although the scores are reported electronically so it's not like no one would notice that she is struggling. She could power through the strength training and running this morning, but the precision exercises of gun assembly and shooting have been made nearly impossible by her shaking that has only intensified since we stepped outside and into this downpour. I had assumed her withdrawal symptoms would be alleviated with time, like the pain in my ribs has, but maybe they have to get worse before they will get better. She is operating on an empty stomach too, given that she tossed her field lunch after getting only half of it down.

Johanna tears her earmuffs off halfway through her round and yells, "Hey, Everdeen! Can you give me a hand here?" I begrudgingly sling my gun over my shoulder by its strap and nod. It's not really fair that it's fallen to me to be the teacher when I barely even know how to use one of these things, just because she doesn't want attention from York.

"What is it, Mason?" I mock as I come closer. "Not capable of managing that on your own?" Her face dissolves into a pleading look, and it hits me that she is actually at the end of her rope. I still can't stop myself from adding, "Well apparently it was funny when you said it." She snuffles and looks down at her foot that is toeing the puddle she is standing in.

"Don't right now, okay? Make fun of me all you want later, please do, just…" She looks back up, and when I squint I can tell that not all of the wetness on her face is from the rain, although it is really starting to pick up again. I never thought I'd see the day that I'd witness Johanna crying once, let alone twice. I sigh and nod, motion for her to continue. "I can't hold this thing steady," she complains. "I don't know how you do it."

"It would be a lot easier if you weren't shaking from withdrawal," I start. "But you probably have to work on your breathing too. Remember what York said, you have to shoot when you've just finished the inhale or exhale, not while you're actually breathing. And your breaths are too shallow and fast right now to do that properly."

"Yeah, I noticed," she snarks.

"Do you want my help or not?" I snap. Johanna's eyes blink away and she nods.

"Yes."

"Yes what?" She catches my eye again and looks particularly annoyed. I have a feeling she's going to make me regret this later, but for now I'm enjoying the reversed power dynamics.

"Yes please, miss Soldier Everdeen mockingjay sir ma'am!" she shouts with far too much enthusiasm, and I have to bite my lip to suppress the smile I feel coming on.

"Okay, then." I motion for her to face the targets, so she does, raises her gun, and clicks the safety off. "I think you're holding it right," I analyze, running my gaze from her left hand steadying the gun all the way down her body to her feet. I walk around to her other side and slightly adjust where the butt of the gun rests under her right collarbone. "That's good," I muse. "Now try and breathe deeply for me, okay? Nice and slow." I reach around her and place a hand on her upper back. "I want to feel my hand move every time. At least three seconds in and three seconds out. I'll count for you." Between the counting and the pressure of my hand to focus on, Johanna manages to even her breathing out a bit, so after a few breaths, I instruct her, "Now shoot after this exhale."

The bullet hits the intended target – not in the center, but decently close. She turns her face to me and grins hugely. My gut tightens at the sight, and I'm definitely enjoying seeing her happy due to my influence again, but I keep my face straight and jerk my head to the right. "Don't look at me," I chide, "look at your next target." She obliges and starts the deep breathing again. I start counting on the second inhalation.

"One. Two." A flash of lightning brightens the sky, but I stay focused. "Three." Two booms sound loudly right then: a crack of thunder, and Johanna's gun. I startle at the second one, as I was not expecting it yet, but I downright jump at the piercing scream suddenly coming from less than a foot away. Johanna is standing stiff as a board, mouth and eyes wide open, pupils dilated. "Johanna!" I shout over her voice. "Johanna, snap out of it!" I reach over the barrel of her gun and backhand her across the face. She stops screaming, recoils and looks around frantically, but seems to look right through me. Her breathing is shallow and irregular again, only much more so. I wrap my arm around her gun and pin it against my side so she can't point it my way, then grab her chin with my left hand and pull it to me. "Johanna," I yell from inches away, "it's okay! It's me, Kat-"

A second lightning strike hits behind me, and from the almost simultaneous crack of thunder, I know it must be close. Johanna falls to the ground and tightens into a ball, and because I have an iron grip on her gun, I go down with her. Her screaming resumes, but now it's between shallow inhalations, so it's not nearly as loud. I fumble to lock the safety on her weapon, then try to wrest it from her grip. As with all of her limbs, her trigger finger is locked tightly – thank god these guns don't fire in bursts. I brace a foot against her ribcage and push. When I manage to peel her finger off the trigger, the gun goes flying out of both of our hands, but I only care that she can no longer shoot or hit me with it. I quickly toss my own weapon behind me and drop onto my stomach beside the girl. Her screaming has subsided into labored whimpers, and she is rocking herself in the fetal position, although it's hardly noticeable because she is shaking so badly.

"York!" I holler towards the compound. "York, I need a medic! Medic!" I scream fruitlessly. We are too far away and the storm is too loud. Thankfully, the younger teenagers at the next two sets of targets have witnessed the commotion and are watching us. I point to the closest one. "Kid, go tell Soldier York I need a medic!" I shout, hoping that the panic I feel is not too evident in my voice. "Now!" He turns and sprints away, and I return my attention to the other victor. "Johanna!" I grab her wrist tightly, and instantly her eyes lock on me. She lets out another blood-curdling scream and starts kicking wildly. "Johanna, stop!" I manage to get past her thrashing legs and roll her onto her back and into the puddle. I see her eyes go wide and any remaining color drain from her face just as I pin her wrist to the ground.

"No!" Johanna shrieks. I would think that her finding words again would be an improvement if it weren't for the fact that her panic has visibly transformed into pure terror. She swats at me with her free hand and keeps trying to kick her legs, but my shins are on her thighs now and weighing them down. I catch her left wrist mid-slap and hold it firmly, restraining her last limb. "Help!"

"Jo! Johanna, I'm trying to help you!" I yell in return, forcing her second wrist down into the muddy water.

"No!" she repeats, her thrashing intensified. "Katniss!" I freeze, and she takes advantage of this, nearly shaking me off of her before I regain control. So she does know it's me. Then why is she so scared? She doesn't honestly think I would hurt her, does she? "Help!" Maybe she thinks I'm returning the favor after she attacked me in the arena. "Katniss, help!" My eyes widen and refocus on her hysterical features as it dawns on me that she is not screaming at me.

She is screaming for me.

"Johanna!" I bellow. "Jo, it's me! I'm here!" I lean down so my face is only inches above hers. "It's me, Katniss!" I would yell right in her ear, but I'm afraid she'll hit me with her head and give us both another concussion. I'm not sure that it matters, because my words don't seem to be getting through anyway. I look back towards the compound and see no one nearby. The pounding rain obscures any long-range vision. All the kids must have gone back inside because the storm is getting worse. Where the hell is York?

"No! I won't tell you a thing!" Oh god. No. "I won't!" Fuck me. She's having a torture flashback, and I'm restraining her. I am the biggest idiot in Panem. I can feel the blood draining from my head, but I scramble to release her limbs before I can pass out in this position. Instead I press my left cheek to hers and grasp around the back of her head with my right hand to hold her head to mine, and then tuck my left arm into my side. I can only hope this protects both of my sensitive areas from further injury as she flails underneath me. I lower myself down so I'm covering her body with my own but not pinning her down, and lock my knees around her hips.

"Shhh," I croon directly into her ear. "Johanna, it's okay. It's Katniss." She continues to writhe and shriek, and I wrack my brain for a way to break through, to establish my identity. It takes a moment before I find my solution. It should have been glaringly obvious all along. I lick my lips, take in a breath, and whistle the string of four notes that I used as a signal to Rue in my first Games. The signal that originally meant that I was okay; the signal that has become a significant identifier of the mockingjay. Johanna ceases all movement, and for a moment I could swear she is back. But then she starts shuddering violently and I feel hot tears running down between our cheeks.

"No!" she wails. "You can't! Katniss!" I lift my head and take another look at her face. Her gaze is still unfocused, her pupils still dominating her eyes full of tears. Her lip trembles as she shouts, "Don't! Please!"

Perhaps I'm asking to get my throat ripped out, but I do the only thing I can think of. I lean in and kiss Johanna full on the mouth. Her trembling lessens a bit after a few seconds, but her eyes are still wild. "Shhh," I reassure her, "I'm here." I return my lips to hers, and after a moment, I can feel hers responding, moving against mine. I pull back and look down on her once more. Johanna squints up at me. She says nothing, but exhales deeply and slumps back into the puddle. "Jo," I whisper, "it's okay. You're okay." I press one more peck onto her lips. "It's me. It's Katniss. We're in Thirteen. No one is going to hurt you here, okay? No one is going to hurt you." By the time I'm finished, she is already hyperventilating again and her eyes have resumed darting around. "No," I command her steadily, "no, look at me." She does, and gradually manages to slow and deepen her wheezing breaths a bit, but I find I'm holding my own breath as I attempt to mask my anxiety. I have to appear calm if I want her to regain her composure.

"Katniss?" she croaks out. I practically burst into tears at the sound of her voice, her lucid voice. I nod enthusiastically and cup her cheek, something vaguely resembling a sob escaping from my chest. I wipe a stray tear from her face as I feel a few beginning to roll down my own. Johanna just stares for a moment before suddenly scooting backwards and out of the puddle. Now several feet away from me, she collapses on her side in the mud and starts to bawl. I slowly crawl up behind her, and when that doesn't seem to spook her, I lay a hand on her shoulder. She trembles under my touch and chokes out a few sobs. "I'm sorry," she rasps from her raw throat, "I didn't mean to."

"I didn't either." I rub my hand up and down her arm a few times until her crying quiets down somewhat. "Let's get you inside, okay? Before there's another lightning strike." She shudders and nods. "Do you think you can walk?" She weakly turns her head to look up at me, and I know right away that that is not an option. Instead I plant my left foot on the ground and reach under her neck and knees, and before she can object, I have scooped her up off the ground. I moan and grimace at the agony inflicted on my ribs as I slowly straighten up and dig my right toe into the ground to propel myself up onto both feet, but I don't stop. Johanna turns and buries her face in my shoulder as I begin the walk back to the compound. I curse her mentally again for picking the farthest target range from shelter, but am grateful at least that she is fairly lightweight. She grasps at my soaked t-shirt as silent sobs continue to shake through her.

"Don't worry," I murmur. "You're going to be fine. We're almost back." That last part is not really true, and I'm not sure about the rest of it but I'm certainly hoping it's true. I catch a glimpse of two figures walking towards us through the rain, and let out a sigh of relief. I'm not sure I could have carried her much farther by myself. "Hey Jo," I say, "it's York. It's York and a medic. They're here to help you."

Johanna's head suddenly shoots up in panic. I almost think she's lost in a flashback again until she says frantically, "I had a seizure."

"What? No," I explain, "you had a flashback or something."

"No no no, I mean I need you to tell them I had a seizure, brainless." I smile at the familiar nickname falling from her lips, but my eyes must give away how perplexed I am. "I need you to lie for me."

"I thought you said I'm a terrible liar," I scoff.

"Then learn fast. Trust me on this one, okay? They might not let me go to the Capitol or even continue training if they knew what happened." It is impossible to miss the desperation in her voice and her eyes. I nod my agreement and look back up. It turns out that the field medic accompanying Soldier York is my little sister. I am disappointed for a second because a larger medic means less chance of me having to carry my roommate any farther, but then I realize that this could work to my advantage when it comes to storytelling.

As we close in on them, I whisper, "I'm going to put you down, okay?" She nods, and I stop walking. I gently lower and then let go of her knees so she can drop her feet to the ground and stand on them herself. She loops an arm around my waist and leans on me for support, but at least she looks halfway functional.

"Soldier Mason," York says as they reach us, "I'm glad to see you up and moving." Her eyes analyze how Johanna is leaning on me and she adds, "Somewhat."

"She's still feeling weak," I explain, "but the seizure ended a few minutes ago and she's been improving since."

"Seizure?" asks Prim, narrowing her eyes in confusion.

"Are you sure that's what happened?" asks York. "Soldier Kearns said she was screaming. And not just for a second like you'll sometimes see when seizures start."

"What? No! It was me that was screaming," I object. Both newcomers stare at me and I quickly add, "And of course I'm sure! Our mother's a healer. We saw a few seizures back in Twelve, so I know one when I see one."

"That's true," Prim chimes in. "If Katniss is sure that's what she saw, I'd trust her judgment." It's not true at all, actually. I'd heard my mother speak of the phenomenon enough times to have a general idea of what they look like, but I've never seen one myself, and Prim knows it. York narrows her eyes at me and shakes her head.

"If you can recognize one and know how to manage it," she inquires, "then why the hell did you pin her down? Some of the other soldiers saw you do it."

"For the same reason I was screaming," I reply emphatically. "She was shaking like crazy and was holding a gun! Okay? I was scared. I freaked out and forgot you're supposed to just let them ride it out." Soldier York purses her lips and looks from me to Johanna and back again. She nods, seemingly satisfied.

"Speaking of which, just where are your guns, Soldier Everdeen?" My face falls and I turn my head to look back at the trail I've just conquered. "Never mind," she grumbles, "I'll go get them. You two take Mason to the hospital and get her checked out. Make sure they send me a full report on her condition." York stalks away, and I let out the breath I'd been holding. I turn my face to Prim, who is already looping Johanna's left arm over her shoulder.

"We'll each take some of your weight," she explains. "All you have to do is try to keep your feet moving, okay?" Johanna nods gratefully.

"Thanks, Prim," she says. We continue the trip back, but it is slow going with Johanna tripping over her own feet, and I can hear the buildup to thunder rumbling in the air. Jo must recognize the noise too, because her face jumps skyward and her eyes glaze over in alarm. Her legs start trembling and then give out under her.

"No time!" I call across her to Prim. "We need to get her inside, now. Help her get on my back." My sister immediately obeys, guiding Johanna behind me and then hoisting her up so her legs can wrap around my waist. "Hold on," I order the smaller victor, before taking off in the fastest speed walk I can manage without jostling my ribs too much. Prim jogs up beside us, and I nod gratefully. "Thanks," I say. My mind flicks back to when she confirmed my fib earlier and I add, "for everything." The look on her face tells me she understands exactly what I mean.

"I'm going to run ahead to the hospital and make sure they're ready for her when you get there, okay?" I nod. "You can manage her on your own?"

"I'll be fine," I reassure her. "Go ahead." Prim takes off, and I tighten my arms around Johanna's knees. "You alright back there?"

"Yeah," she confirms, pulling her elbows over my shoulders to further secure my grip on her. Her breath brushes against my neck, sending a shiver through me as she mumbles, "Thanks. You pulled that off pretty well."

My mind flashes back to another lie, at another time, in another place. I smirk a little at the fact that I just proved someone wrong again, and I can't help but tease her. "Who can't lie, Johanna?"

I know she recognizes this infamous line from my first Games, because she immediately huffs into my ear, "I'm not your fucking boyfriend, Everdeen." I never thought this type of sentence would make me smile, but it does, because I will take this Johanna over the one I just witnessed any day.

***o***

Even over the sound of the hair dryer in my hand, I can recognize my roommate's indignant objections through the door. It's not bathing time yet, but nobody had tried to stop me from jumping into the shower in our cramped attached bathroom given how muddy I was after the incident on the shooting range. I'd asked the even muddier Johanna if she wanted to go first, but she was being examined physically and verbally by various doctors and clearly didn't have the time. I'd just tossed her a towel, as per her request. If the voices coming from the room are any indication, the examinations aren't over.

"It's not like I'm some sort of invalid!" I hear clearly as I turn the machine off. "This is bullshit!" The doctor barely starts his muffled reply before she cuts in, "You said yourself that if I got one it wouldn't necessarily mean I'd have more." I tentatively open the door and poke my head out, but neither of them notices me. Only the one doctor remains, standing a few feet from Johanna with a clipboard, while she glares up at him defiantly from the edge of her bed she is perched on. She is wearing a clean and dry change of clothes, but dirt is visibly streaked on her face and hands where she tried to wipe away the mud. She's clutching the soiled towel tightly in her white-knuckled fists.

"That is true, Soldier Mason," he replies patiently, "but there is a greater likelihood, especially in the coming days. We need to ensure your safety and everyone else's. Imagine if you'd been holding a semi-automatic weapon when your muscles went tonic. You could have shot Soldier Everdeen or any of the other soldiers nearby, multiple times." This seems to get through to Johanna, perhaps because it is true even though the reason that it happened is a lie. She looks away from him glumly and her eyes settle on me. She lets out a weary sigh and shoots me a pleading look.

"Katniss, can you please back me up here?" Yeah, I was right at the wedding. I really can't say no to that face.

"Depends," I answer as I take a few cautious steps towards the pair. "What exactly is going on?"

"They're trying to take my gun away!" Johanna complains.

"Only for a few days," the doctor cuts in. "And we need to keep her in the hospital for observation for 24 hours. After that, she can resume training and even take part in SSC if that is part of her regimen. She's just not allowed to handle live ammunition for four days."

"Four days!" she echoes him in disbelief. "This moron doesn't understand that we only have a few weeks to prep for the invasion. How are my gun skills going to be good enough by then if I can't practice?"

"We felt that four days was the bare minimum we were comfortable with," he argues. "It's actually quite a compromise that we decided to make in light of your situation." He turns back to me and adds, "And she can participate in SSC, which will still give her plenty of opportunities for target practice."

"I told you, we're not in SSC yet!" Johanna directs back at the doctor.

"What's SSC?" I ask.

"Simulated Street Combat," the doctor explains. "Also known as 'the Block.' It's basically practicing potential scenarios for the invasion. You get fake guns for it, among other things."

"Yeah, and we don't get to do it yet!" Johanna turns back to me and widens her eyes pointedly. She wants me to take up her case. I don't really have any desire to get involved, partly because I want to avoid Johanna's ire and partly because my best argument is that we don't have to worry about her having more seizures because she didn't have one in the first place. But since she seems intent on sticking to that story, I can't tell him that. On the other hand, even if I can't convince him to change his mind, making an effort to help Johanna will at least keep me on her good side.

"What about other forms of ammunition?" I suggest. "Rubber bullets or something?" Johanna doesn't look particularly pleased with this attempt at helping, and the doctor shakes his head.

"It's still too risky. Those can badly injure somebody too." It's useless, but I try one more thing just so Jo can't say I didn't.

"Are you sure it has to be four days?" I implore. "Can't you cut it down any more? Like she said, just because she had one doesn't mean she'll have more."

"Four days is already something we aren't entirely comfortable with," he reiterates firmly. "Perhaps Soldier Mason should consider asking your trainer to recommend her for SSC or at least put in a word to let her practice with those simulated weapons. It's the best I can do." I turn to Johanna and shrug.

"Maybe York would do that for you."

"It's not like York's going to come visit me down here," she grumbles. "I won't get to talk to her for a couple of days at least. They're forcing me into hibernation down here."

"For good reason, Soldier," the doctor interjects with waning patience. "You need rest more than anything after a seizure. The best thing you can do right now is sleep." He accentuates this by manually dimming the lights in the room halfway before backing out the door and shutting it behind him. Johanna scoffs half-heartedly and launches her towel at the small table next to the door.

"That's the worst thing I could do right now. Fucking idiot." I would point out that he could probably give her better advice if he knew what had actually happened, but it's not worth arguing over, not after what just happened not even an hour ago. Johanna's fingers fidget in her lap while she starts swinging her legs off the side of the bed, letting them bounce off the frame under the mattress. "Maybe if I had some morphling I could handle it, but…" she looks up at me and shrugs in resignation. "Of course. Bad timing."

"To take the edge off the nightmares, you mean?" Her eyes darken and narrow and she shakes her head.

"No, so I can hallucinate colorful forest creatures and have a fucking tea party with them," she fires back. "Of course the nightmares, brainless." I keep my face as impassive as possible, refusing to take the bait, and after a few seconds she exhales shakily and looks down at her swinging feet. "Sorry," she mumbles. Many people would see this as a good thing, but I know that Johanna must be in an extremely vulnerable emotional state if she is actually apologizing for something. I do have an idea of how I could help her with that, and with the nightmares – a solution that I know works for me somewhat from my time on the Victory Tour. But my stomach churns at the thought of broaching the subject, because in a way it turns this situation around and makes me the vulnerable one, whether Johanna realizes it or not. I decide to risk it anyway.

"Would it be easier if I stayed with you?" I venture, fighting to keep my voice steady. I slide my hands into my hip pockets both to suppress my sudden need to fidget and to discreetly wipe my sweaty palms. I can't tell whether or not Johanna understands what I mean just from her facial expression, but if she does understand, she plays dumb.

"What," she asks, "were you planning on running off somewhere else?"

"No, I mean…" I cautiously walk past her. "I mean stay _with_ you," I explain as I sit down a couple of feet away, just below the pillow. Johanna studies me over her shoulder but says nothing, so I lean back onto my elbows and raise my eyebrows. My stomach drops and my vision fogs as she remains unresponsive, and my brain starts moving way too fast. Maybe I've stepped over the line. Or maybe she's just being coy and defensive. That's entirely likely. Maybe she's about to slap me for being too forward. Maybe she legitimately doesn't want me to hold her. I swallow down the forming lump in my throat and try to will the knot in my stomach to loosen. Johanna finally gives me a reaction of sorts. She tries to smirk, and forces out a weak snort.

"You know, Everdeen, just because I've seen you half naked now doesn't mean you're suddenly welcome in my bed." I roll my eyes. Of course she has to make this difficult.

"Like you actually saw anything," I scoff.

"Not saying I did, and not saying I didn't." She winks, a glint of playfulness back in her eyes and voice. I suppose I can put up with her teasing if it makes her feel more secure for a moment, but I'm not about to let her push me away unless I'm sure it's what she really wants. On the contrary, by the longing in her face that she can't totally hide and the tremor in her hands that has picked up since I offered, I'm pretty sure my suggestion is exactly what she wants. And needs. Not that she would ever admit it.

"Just shut up and lie down," I demand with a huff and another roll of my eyes, reaching up to grab her arm. I only have to give a light tug to convince her to do so. I shift so I'm actually lengthwise on the bed, and Johanna crawls up on my right. I have just settled on my back when the smaller girl tucks herself into my side, causing me to twitch in nervousness and surprise. She lays her head above my breast and a hand on my stomach, sliding it along until her fingertips bump into my hipbone. The jolt down my spine is immediate and strong, and travels beyond her hand. Unlike when she'd lain on me when I was doped up on morphling, the heat and spasms don't wait to spread that far. That whole experience had felt quite intense at the time, but now it's like the shadows of those sensations have burst forth into full color. But given that they say morphling dulls the extremes of all emotions, maybe I shouldn't be surprised by my body's reaction to a similar situation when sober.

I push out a shaky breath and attempt to regain my composure. I wrap my right arm around her and lay my other hand on her forearm, and then drop a kiss onto her forehead before I even realize I've done it. I pull back warily and ready myself for a physical or verbal reprimand, but thankfully she grunts only in acknowledgment as opposed to protest. I almost grin at this sudden change of demeanor in the plucky victor. The cuddling came unexpectedly easy given how much of a chore it was to get her to lie down at all. Then again, if I were afraid of slipping into nightmares recalling my own torture, I would probably latch onto the nearest warm body I halfway trusted as well, especially if it belonged to one of the few people who truly understood what was going on.

That is something that is still bothering me, actually. Johanna had worried that being honest about the fact that she'd had a flashback would get her kicked out of the military, but the story we'd concocted is also impacting her ability to train, and having to keep it up has already proven to be taxing for me. I sigh deeply as I envision trying to explain what had happened to our friends while working around a crucial part of the truth. I have to fight to suppress a shudder when the girl's thumb starts sweeping back and forth over my stomach. If Johanna ever realizes I'm ticklish, I'm done for. I start speaking mostly because I'm afraid of what other sounds might come out of my mouth if I don't.

"This seizure story is more trouble than it's worth, you know," I complain. "It's only holding your training back."

"You don't understand, Katniss," she mumbles into my chest. No kidding. "The doctors and higher-ups that know the details of… of what happened to me in the Capitol took some convincing to let me train. They think I'm too unstable and that I could be a major liability during the invasion." She tilts her face up a little so she can look me in the eye. "They'd told me that a possible side effect was abnormal electrical activity in my brain, resulting in seizures. So it was a convenient thing I could blame what happened on without it having anything to do with my mental state. Make sense?"

I nod, even though it only sort of makes sense because why she'd potentially be having seizures in the first place is beyond me. I want to ask what happened to her, out of both curiosity and concern, but I'm not sure I've earned the right to that information. I could try to guilt it out of her because I'd had to bring her back from her flashback, but honestly I'm the one with the guilt on me, because it's indirectly my fault that she had been tortured in the first place. But it might be better to know just in case I need to help her again in the future.

"Why did they think you might get seizures?" I hesitantly ask. I feel Johanna subtly tense against me, so I start moving my hands in small comforting circles over her clothes. "It's okay if you don't want to tell me," I assure her gently. She says nothing for a while. If it weren't for the almost imperceptible trembling in her hand and her jaw, I might wonder if she'd fallen asleep.

"Because of the electrical shocks," she finally explains. "That's one of the things they did to me in the Capitol." I instinctively tighten my arms around her. She has suffered far too much. I mull the new information over and finally make the connection that probably should have been obvious. Brainless.

"So, the lightning..."

"Yeah." I feel her swallow against my side and burrow her face deeper into my chest.

"Shit." That's all I can think of to say. There really isn't much else I can say. "I'm sorry, Johanna."

"It's not your fault," comes her muffled and deflated reply.

"It kind of is, though." She shakes her head.

"No," she states more firmly this time. "I made my own choices." She runs her hand up and over my lower ribcage as she says this. I would object because of the pain it causes me in the sore spot she briefly presses on, but the movement somehow feels good despite that. "I signed on to the rebellion, on to protecting you, of my own free will." Her hand circles around and farther up, and comes to rest on my sternum just as she curls her top leg up and over my knees. "Don't feel bad. The revolution could have died if you did." Right, the damn revolution again. Where all of my worth starts and ends these days. The tension in my stomach has increased, though I'm not sure if it's due to the subtle and probably unintentional insult in what she just said, or a deepening of my desire.

Wait, desire? Is that really what I'm feeling? I scrunch up my face but resume the soothing movements of my hands as I take stock of what is going on in my body. There is the familiar warm comfort of holding someone or being held, but there's also something else that's familiar. It's similar to what I felt when I was tangled up with Peeta on the beach, but stronger. Much stronger. And from much less than kissing. But then again, I have kissed Johanna, and I'd felt nothing at the time. Well, not nothing, but nothing of this sort. But how can I judge how I feel about kissing her when our only kiss was an impulsive attempt to pull her back to reality? Maybe I should kiss her again so I can figure out if it would make me feel something in a different situation. Oh, there I go again. I considered kissing her on the night of the wedding too, although that was more so out of pity so I'm not sure that counts. Then again, using that criterion, a lot of my kisses don't count.

Johanna lets out a sleepy whimper and fists my shirt between my breasts, and instantly another surge of spasms and fire rips through my torso and down between my legs. A frustrated grunt escapes me as I uncomfortably shift my body under hers in an attempt to quiet the effects of this latest wave of desire. Okay, fine, desire. I had reasoned that it was the morphling causing these reactions a few nights ago, but in my sober state I can no longer lie to myself. I'm physically attracted to Johanna Mason, at least in some sense. Sexually attracted, maybe? I think so, but I'm not really sure. Although the right parts of my body are certainly stimulated, I've never really consciously thought of her that way. I guess I'd never thought to. All I really know is that I like holding her close. It feels dangerous, yet somehow comforting. Great, more danger. This is one more thing that I really do not need right now. But it just might be something that I want.

* * *

><p>AN: I actually consider those last two scenes to be fluffy angst. Because aw. I know this one was heavy, but not every chapter will bring the feelings like this. Or, at least, not those kinds of feelings. These events were necessary to move the plot and character development in a somewhat different direction than in the book, and faster. Given Katniss's reaction to Johanna failing her Block test in canon, I felt that making her aware of (some of) Johanna's problems earlier and having her actually witness a flashback could have interesting consequences for their relationship. In this chapter alone, it already ended up giving her another opportunity to notice and evaluate her attraction to Johanna, not to mention an excuse to kiss her. So, sorrynotsorry.

That being said, reviews are totally welcome. I'm still interested in hearing if the chapters sound similar to Katniss's narration style in the books. Thanks to heymrsunshine for mentioning that in your review. And thanks to everyone who's reviewed, faved, and followed so far; I'm really happy with the reception my first chapter received. Hell, thanks for reading it at all! :)


	3. Something Else

My eyes pop fully open at the sound of the door creaking on its hinges. Despite the heaviness of my eyelids and my head in general, I haven't let myself join Johanna in the slumber she fell into shortly after she last spoke, which I'd guess was about half an hour ago. The pain in my ribs has ebbed enough that I could probably fall asleep now, which is good because I haven't slept in almost 36 hours but bad because I don't want to just yet. So far, I have managed to stalwartly maintain my vigilance. I was probably right when I said that that no one in Thirteen would hurt Johanna, but nightmares still can, and I want to be there the second she needs me to wake or comfort her. Besides, sleeping just didn't feel right after what she'd told me. I owe her this protection after all she has done to protect me, even if she would consciously refuse it. The person now standing in the doorway, though, is one person I'm certain she doesn't need to be protected from.

"So it was a flashback, right?" asks Prim. If the tray of food in her hands is any indication of the time, my estimation was correct. I motion for her to come in, and she does, closing the door behind her.

"Off the record?" She nods and sets the tray on the table by the door, and I look back down at the sleeping girl resting on my chest. "Yeah." I shudder and meet my sister's gaze again. "It was scary, Prim." She steps closer and peers over me at Johanna.

"What happened to her?" she whispers. I swallow and screw my eyes shut.

"It was the lightning," I explain hoarsely. "She started screaming and thrashing. I was yelling at her, but she didn't recognize me. She was totally gone."

"No," Prim clarifies gently, "I mean what happened to her in the Capitol?" I ease my eyes open and study the face inches from my own. If Prim doesn't know, it's probably because Johanna doesn't want her to.

"She's keeping that one close to the vest," I mumble. "Only a few doctors and military types know, I think. And she wants to keep it that way."

"And you know?" I catch Prim's eye again and nod gently.

"Now, yeah." My sister smiles and touches my shoulder.

"You should eat, Katniss." My eyes dart to the tray behind her, but she shakes her head. "That's for her. The doctors said most seizure victims don't like to eat afterwards, but I insisted I should at least give her the chance, especially if she threw up earlier. You're still expected to eat in the dining hall." I frown and shake my head.

"No. I can't leave her. If I move, she'll wake up again."

"That might not be such a bad thing," Prim counters softly. "If she wakes up and you're here, that could only be comforting. Besides, she really should try to get something down." Prim's probably right. I move my left hand to Johanna's cheek and slowly run my fingertips down to her jaw. She stirs, but doesn't open her eyes.

"Johanna," I mumble, to no avail. I give her shoulder a gentle shake and try again, louder this time. "Johanna," I say, "wake up. You have a visitor." The woman nuzzles her face into the flesh under my clavicle and slowly opens her eyes. She raises her head enough to focus on me sleepily. "Your favorite nurse is here to see you." She squints and blinks a few times before her eyes widen in realization and she turns her face towards the younger girl.

"Prim," she smiles, "hey." When she lifts her head to more easily meet my sister's gaze, she lifts her body along with it and rolls fully onto her side, sliding her leg off of mine. I suddenly feel indescribably cold and empty, and this feeling only grows as she moves her hand from where it was nestled in my cleavage down my sternum and towards her so only her fingertips are resting on the side of my ribcage. "Thank you for helping me earlier," she says genuinely. "I appreciate you coming out there in the downpour to give us a hand."

My eyes unconsciously widen. This may be the first time I've ever witnessed Johanna being polite or gentle. How Prim has managed to draw this side out of her is beyond me, though I guess Prim does tend to bring the best out of people. Not to mention Buttercup. I'm pulled from my thoughts by the feeling of Jo's fingers lightly tracing over my ribs just out of Prim's view. Is this a subtle apology, a way to say she didn't want to move? No, that's just what I want it to be. If our last few heart-to-hearts are any indication, I'm nothing but the mockingjay to her. And a warm and willing body, maybe, but not one whose feelings really matter.

"Even if I hadn't wanted to, it was sort of my job," Prim teases Johanna. "But you're welcome. Are you feeling any better?"

"A bit," Johanna replies. "It helps having someone here. I'm less scared of flashbacks if I know I'm not alone." She smoothes her hand over my stomach, but the last thing I feel this time is arousal because I know she's only doing it to justify her need to sleep on someone who just so happens to be me. Prim, for her part, just smirks at Johanna, who sends her a playful glare in return. I'm incapable of interpreting this telepathy going on between the two of them. I'm not sure what could be funny about flashbacks. Wait a second.

"Don't you mean 'seizures,' Johanna?" I inquire pointedly. She shakes her head.

"Prim knew you were lying back on the field, I could tell. Besides, I trust her." I have to remind myself that this is not so strange, despite Johanna's reluctance to trust anyone. They forged a bond in my absence when I was in Two, though I clearly underestimated its strength. At the wedding, Prim had made it sound like she'd been taking pity on Johanna by visiting her. It had never occurred to me that she actually enjoyed Johanna's company. I know I didn't for a long time. Part of me still doesn't.

"What can I say?" Prim grins, pointing at herself. "It's this sweet, innocent face."

"Innocent, eh? Must be an Everdeen thing. Sweet, not so much." I move my eyes back to Johanna, who is gazing down at me playfully. But I'm not really in the mood for games. I start to fake a yawn to give myself an excuse to close my eyes, but it quickly becomes genuine. When my eyes open again, she is still watching me.

"Have you slept at all?"

"No, I…" There's no way I'm going to admit to Johanna that I feel compelled to protect her, because even if I felt comfortable saying that, she would undoubtedly say she doesn't need my help and push off of me completely. I don't want that. So I improvise. "I wanted to be able to wake you up if you started having a nightmare." It's a partial truth, at least.

"I actually didn't have any." The intensity of her gaze and her small smile convey her meaning clearly. She did find peace in my arms. Even if it's just a byproduct of the physical closeness to another human and has nothing to do with who I am, it makes my heart swell to know that my presence is helping to ward off the nightmares. This also means I can actually sleep once I get back from dinner, so long as I'm still holding her. I can't wait. I'm exhausted.

***o***

I stumble into the dining hall, wiping sleep from the corner of my eye with the back of my hand, and automatically stagger to the food line. Or, where the food line would be if I weren't significantly late. Once my tray is filled up with my prescribed servings of everything, I focus my bleary eyes enough to find a familiar face and start to make my way over to where Gale is sitting with the newlyweds. As I approach Finnick from behind, he is making emphatic gestures with his arms and speaking animatedly.

"I mean, I don't usually throw it that much, but maybe I'll have to now! Imagine if you guys had that for your arrows, hey?"

"Are you kidding?" Gale says to Finnick while watching me. "For one, catching all the arrows would take up more time than reloading. That's what the quiver is for." As I set my tray down and Finnick notices me, Gale adds, "And secondly, you'd have to have a separate button for each arrow unless you wanted them all to fly at you at once, and neither option is practical."

"Way to ruin my ingenious ideas, Hawthorne." Finnick almost immediately shifts his attention to me as I sit down, his expression turning serious. "Katniss, how's Jo?" I blink up from my tray.

"Huh?"

"We all heard," Annie jumps in. "Is she okay?" I'm not really sure how to answer that. She was viciously tortured in the Capitol and just had a violent, traumatic flashback to said torture not two hours ago. Of course she is not fucking okay. But I can't say that to the girl who was locked up with Johanna and Peeta and was a little off even before that. Besides, I'm not supposed to mention the flashback. Short of being okay, Johanna seems stable enough for the moment, and I guess that's what Annie meant.

"She's resting," I answer cagily, focusing on twirling a long noodle around my fork. "Prim's with her now."

"What happened to her?" Finnick asks anxiously. "Someone said she had a panic attack and was rolling on the ground and hitting you, but then someone else said she had a seizure. No one seems to be able to get the story straight." Jeez, I wonder why. I'm going to kill Johanna. Not literally. Well, probably not.

"She had a seizure," I confirm, still not raising my eyes from my plate. "And I was an idiot and tried to restrain her because it freaked me out. That's probably why it looked like we were fighting." This is met with silence, so I finally look up at my tablemates. That was a mistake. I squirm in my seat under their incredulous stares, especially Finnick's highly analytical one. "What?" I sputter. "Did you guys think we were mud wrestling just for fun?"

"It sounds like something you two would do," Gale mutters. I elbow him in response, but honestly, I am glad for the deflection from the real story that I'm trying to avoid.

"So she's okay mentally then?" inquires Finnick, regrettably not letting it go. "I thought she might have freaked out in the storm." Right, of course Finnick knows about the shocks. Finnick is Johanna's best bud. Best bud with a nice ass. A quick glance at the puzzled Annie and Gale informs me that they don't know about the shocks, so I keep my answer coded.

"I'm sure she's been better," I say cautiously, shooting him a meaningful look. If Finnick figures out what actually happened, it's probably fine so long as he keeps it to himself. Johanna will no doubt tell him anyway. His eyes darken and he immediately begins to fidget. The others are still watching us questioningly, so I clear my throat and address a question to Gale before he can ask me one.

"So what was that you were talking about when I got here? Something about arrows?"

"Finnick's new trident," he replies compliantly, though it is obvious from his expression that he knows I was itching to change the subject. "It can be summoned from a remote location." I squint in confusion and also extreme fatigue.

"I can call it back to me by pressing a button on a cuff I wear on my wrist," Finnick explains. "So I can throw it and retrieve it without having to move. It's brilliant, actually. It's one of the things Beetee's been working on down in Special Weaponry." Weaponry. Weapons. Specialty weapons. I suddenly jump up from my seat.

"I'll be right back," I barely bother to say over my shoulder as I bolt away from the table towards where I seem to recall Beetee usually sits. I catch him just as he's about to roll out into the corridor.

"Hey, Beetee!" I call before he can leave the room. "Wait up!" He spins his wheelchair around and smiles when he spots me jogging towards him.

"Hi, Katniss," he greets me warmly. "I wasn't sure we'd see you down here after the incident on the range." Great, so now everyone knows about that. Well, maybe not everyone. Beetee is a fellow victor, after all. "Are you okay?" I'm taken aback by the question only because everyone else so far has been asking about Johanna, not me. Even I haven't considered my own mental state after what happened.

"I'm fine, don't worry," I quickly brush the question off. I can't really afford to stop and think about that yet. "Do you have a minute?"

"For you? Of course." I walk along the wall a little ways to give us some privacy, and he follows close behind. "What can I do for you?"

"Finnick's trident," I say. "Do you think you could use that same technology in other types of weapons? The remote retrieval thing?" He chuckles.

"I know I could, but I think you'd find that using it for arrows would prove too complex and even danger-"

"No, not arrows," I cut in. "I was thinking of axes." Beetee squints in thought and rubs his goatee.

"That's probably feasible," he ponders aloud. "The aerodynamics would be different, obviously, but it would be similar enough because I'd want them to fly straight through the air rather than spiraling, so they'd be easier to catch…" I watch him intently as he continues to think. "I don't see why that would be a problem." I grin in excitement, and he smiles widely in return. "Looking to diversify your skills even more?"

"Oh, no," I gush, "Not for me. I meant for Johanna. She's banned from using guns for four days because the doctors are afraid she'll have another seizure and shoot accidentally when her muscles tense up. But I think she'd be allowed to train with axes. They don't have triggers."

"No, they don't," he replies, a hint of amusement creeping onto his face. "I'll see what I can do. So long as the doctors don't object, I could potentially have them ready for her within a couple of days."

"Really?" Beetee nods. "Thank you! I mean, I guess she could train with plain axes in the meantime anyway, but I think it would make her really happy to have something special just for her, you know?"

"Yes," he concurs, "I'm sure that would help raise her spirits. I'll set to it first thing tomorrow."

I do a giddy little dance in celebration. Wait, I do a what? What the hell is wrong with me? I need to get it together. I need to sleep. And eat. With one final thank you to Beetee, I make my way back to the table and plunk down onto the bench. When I look up, I notice Annie rubbing her distressed-looking husband's arm and whispering in his ear.

"What was all that about?" Gale asks from beside me. I almost tell him, but then decide that if word got around so quickly about Johanna's episode, the news about the axes might too.

"It's a surprise," I mumble through a mouthful of pasta and quickly flit my eyes away, only to meet Finnick's distraught ones.

"Katniss, do you think they'd let Johanna have any visitors right now?" he jitters. "I really should get down there. Is there anything I can bring her?" I take another bite of food as I formulate a response. I honestly just want to climb back into bed and fall asleep as soon as possible, but that won't happen if Finnick is in the room making a scene. And if his nerves rub off on Johanna, she could get all riled up again, and I do not want to have to deal with that.

"The doctors have told her to rest as much as possible," I answer. "She's actually probably sleeping right now. Prim's only there because they would rather someone keep an eye on her for awhile." It's true enough. The worry doesn't leave Finnick's face.

"Are you sure she doesn't need some company?"

"She has all the company she needs," I reply brusquely. Three pairs of stunned eyes take me in as I blink in surprise at my own outburst. I duck my head, ostensibly to stuff more food in my mouth, but mostly to hide the sudden redness in my cheeks.

"Finnick, honey," I hear Annie say in a hushed tone, "she knows best what's going on. She was there, and she heard what the doctors said." I look up curiously. I'm used to seeing Finnick calming and comforting Annie, not the other way around. This is fantastic news. It can only bode well for the woman. And for me, at the moment. "If they say she needs rest, that's the best thing you can give her." Finnick considers this for a moment before letting out a deep breath and covering Annie's hand with his own.

"You're right, love," he smiles, causing her face to light up. He lightly pecks her on the lips before turning back to face Gale and me. God, they're so adorable it's almost disgusting.

"I don't know, maybe you should go, Finnick," counters Gale. "So Prim doesn't have to stay all evening." I look over at him in annoyance and confusion, and he returns the expression. "Did you forget we're studying military terminology tonight? You practically begged me to help you." Oh, crap. I did, just yesterday. But yesterday feels worlds away now after what's transpired in the last few hours.

"I know I did, but something else came up that I have to deal with, you know? Besides, I'm too tired to study. I could pass out any minute."

"Then you're not much good for keeping an eye on Johanna anyway, are you? Finnick should go and keep her company."

"No point, she'll probably be sleeping too."

"So then what does it even matter if you're there?" I could slap him he's being so frustrating. It's like he's trying to get under my skin and keep me from what I want. I can't simply tell him that I need to be there because right now there's nowhere I'd rather be than wrapped around Johanna. That I want to personally protect her from any more harm. That I want to be the one who comforts her if she wakes from a nightmare. Not Prim. Definitely not Finnick. I can't voice these thoughts aloud because it is weird enough to even think them given my history with Johanna, not to mention the fact that they are completely embarrassing and I would never live it down. But I must admit, part of me actually kind of wants to tell Gale these things just to piss him off. I don't, but I still tell the truth.

"Look, Gale," I storm, "do you really need me to spell it out for you? It's my fault Johanna was tortured. The seizures are a side effect of said torture. So I owe it to her to help her through this." I'm not even finished before Annie has covered her ears and picked a spot on the table to burn into with her eyes. Oh, great. So much for Annie doing well. Finnick shoots me a glare, but I'm already sending him an apologetic look. "Sorry," I mouth at him, and he nods before turning to his wife and reciprocating the soothing gestures she'd directed at him earlier.

"By that same logic, it's your fault Peeta was tortured too, and you should be helping him get over the hijacking," Gale whispers. My stomach drops and constricts painfully, along with my face. I'm floored that Gale would go this far just to make a point. Not only because he knows how sore a spot Peeta is for me and that bringing him up is cruel, but also because this suggestion runs completely counter to his own ambitions, given that he and Peeta are rivals for my affection. Since when is Johanna more of a threat to him than Peeta?

"Are you seriously suggesting I spend more time with Peeta?" I ask him in disbelief once I'm able to control my face again. "Who are you, and what have you done with Gale?"

"That's not what I meant," he grumbles. "I just don't understand why you're going out of your way to hang out with someone who barely tolerates you." He doodles in the sauce on his empty plate as he continues, "Instead of people who actually care about you. Who you supposedly care about." That's a low blow, but I can at least understand why he's upset. We've been practically inseparable since coming to Thirteen, despite our frequent spats. Our relationship in whatever form has survived every test over the last several years, so to have someone new who he's mostly just seen attacking me take precedence over him must be downright insulting. It was bad enough when it happened with Peeta, who is – or at least was – basically everything that's good in the world. My posture and eyes soften and I touch Gale's arm to regain his gaze.

"I care about you," I assure him. "You're my best friend."

"Yeah, you say that. But actions speak louder than words, Katniss. Your priorities are really messed up if you're ditching me to spend time with someone who hates you, who you hate. You don't owe her that much." Even if he could be right about my priorities when judging from his own limited perspective, this response really rubs me the wrong way. He has no idea just how much I owe Johanna. And not only is he criticizing my ability to make my own decisions, he's assuming he knows everything about my relationship with the girl from Seven and how we feel about each other. That's something even I don't know.

"It doesn't matter how I feel about her," I snap. "We're allies now. We have each other's backs. Which is more than I can say for you lately." I turn back to my plate and viciously stab at a few of the saucy vegetables in my pile of noodles that is getting cold, no thanks to the constant interruptions from the others. Gale stands and leaves wordlessly, but forcefully enough for me to sense his fury. I sigh deeply, shake my head, and take another bite before I bother to look up again and notice that Finnick is watching me. I suppose Annie is too, but it creeps me out less, perhaps because from her it seems less purposeful. I furrow my brow at him questioningly, but he just shrugs and scrapes the last chunks of meat off his plate and into his mouth.

"No, seriously," I demand, "what?"

"It's none of my business," he says in a nonchalant tone, but his gaze is still intent.

"Yeah, you're damn right it's not." Finnick raises his eyebrows, but more in amusement than offense, I think. He smiles broadly and then turns to Annie, who is just downing the last of her water.

"Ready to go, love?" She nods and they collect their trays and cups. We trade goodbyes, and they are gone. Great, I just cleared a whole table using only the power of my sunny personality. But maybe it's a good thing. Even if I've completely embarrassed myself and alienated all of my friends, at least now I can finish dinner quickly and get home with no more interruptions. That's probably not worth the social drama I just caused myself, but in my exhausted stupor I seem to have developed tunnel vision. Johanna Johanna Johanna. I kind of wish I hadn't realized I'm harboring some kind of feelings for her, because this is just getting ridiculous. But I'm also kind of enjoying it.

***o***

I practically sprinted back to the hospital once I finished eating. The doctors I passed are probably considering giving me back my special bracelet. I slow to a walk before reaching our open door, but the sound of a muffled slap coming from inside makes my face crinkle and my legs speed back up.

"You're still going to lose," Prim's teasing voice wafts around the corner.

"I never lose," comes Johanna's rough reply. I approach on hunter's feet for the last several yards before peeking around the doorframe. The lights are turned back up, the tray Prim brought has been emptied and discarded on the table, and she is sitting cross-legged on Johanna's bed opposite the victor. I watch curiously as the two of them alternate tossing playing cards onto a pile on the bed between them. Johanna runs out of cards after several turns, but Prim keeps laying hers down. Suddenly, they both lunge to slap a hand on the pile. Jo's face drops as Primrose victoriously raises the cards in the air and grins hugely.

"I told you so! I knew I'd beat you one day."

"Yeah yeah yeah," Johanna grumbles. "Of course you won. I'm half asleep, littledeen."

"Littledeen?" My incredulous voice surprises all of us and announces my presence to the others. "Really?" Johanna at least has the decency to look embarrassed, but Prim just mashes the piles of cards in her hands into one and bounces off the bed towards me.

"Katniss! We were starting to wonder if you'd ever come back."

"Yeah, well, I got a little tied up answering a million questions about Johanna's 'seizure.'" I catch the woman's eye. "Everyone's worried, especially Finnick. He almost came running down here, but I told him you needed rest more than anything." Johanna quirks an eyebrow.

"I'm sure you did." I furrow my brow, but she just shakes her head and smiles. "Thanks. I honestly can't take much more company today. And no more questions." Her eyes drop to Prim and she quickly adds, "No offense, littledeen. You don't count. You can come visit me anytime you want." Prim smirks back at her and holds up the deck.

"You just want a chance to win my cards back," she teases.

Johanna smiles warmly and drawls, "Maybe." Prim thumbs her nose at her, only causing the smile to grow. I shake my head in disbelief and mild amusement at the pair of them.

"You were never this nice to me," I muse in Johanna's direction.

"She's much less irritating," she shoots back, though the glint of humor in her eyes is unmistakable. Still, I'm not finding it especially funny at the moment. Prim giggles and nudges me.

"I have to get going. Mom's probably getting worried." I nod, and she turns to Johanna. "I'll come by tomorrow, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks, Prim." The younger girl waves and grabs the tray before making her exit, leaving Johanna and I alone. I raise my eyebrows at Johanna and shut the door behind me.

"Who knew you had so many friends?" I jab teasingly.

"That's hilarious, coming from you," she deadpans right back. I release a barely amused half snort as I kick off my shoes.

"Well, at least you get along with one of the Everdeens," I joke weakly, crossing the room to my side.

"Who would have guessed?" she grins. "I'd assumed you were all bitchy morons." This manages to hurt me more than it would have as recently as this morning, even though I know she's joking to some extent. God, I hate how unstable she makes me feel.

"Yeah, and who would have guessed you'd ever behave tolerably enough for one of us to actually want to spend time with you?" I respond bitingly. Johanna's eyes and mouth open farther as she tunes into my mood. She pivots on the bed to fully face me. "I mean, I know Prim likes everyone and everyone likes her, but even her enjoying your company seems like a stretch." Jo stares silently through narrowed eyes for a moment, plucking her lower lip between her thumb and forefinger a couple times. I can't help but stare back.

"Okay," she finally asks, "what's wrong?"

"Nothing." Johanna scoffs and I add, "Okay, nothing I want to talk about."

"What?" she demands. "Is it Prim?" I blink away and she continues, "Are you actually jealous that I got a bit of your sister's attention? You shouldn't be. That kid adores you, you know. It's obvious." I shake my head.

"It's not that."

"Then what is it?" The opposite, though I don't quite understand why. I would find their connection completely adorable and heart-warming if the differences between theirs and ours didn't highlight all of my own insecurities. Like how the only thing that's obvious about Johanna's feelings for me is that she does not adore me.

"You know what?" I sigh resignedly. "It doesn't matter." It does matter, but I don't know how to express just what I need from her. I'm too tired to think and apparently also too tired to speak without being a complete asshole, so trying to explain is probably a horrible idea. I don't even bother to change into my hospital gown before pulling back the covers on my bed. Johanna will probably not want me with her after I've been snapping at her like this. Even if she does, now that I actually have the opportunity to climb back into her bed, I'm unexpectedly hesitant. I'm not sure my heart can take another round of being a generic bedwarmer and then feeling dispensable afterwards.

"What are you doing?" comes Johanna's puzzled voice from behind me as I crawl under my covers. I curl up on my good side, facing away from her.

"Going to bed," I grumble. "Turn the lights down, will you?"

"But…" She is seemingly lost for words for a moment, and when she speaks again her tone is still confused, but also imploring. "Katniss." I grunt to indicate I'm listening, but I don't move. "Look, I don't know what I did to piss you off, but I need you with me right now." I painfully swallow the lump in my throat that has just sprouted at her words and try to battle the fluttering of my heart. She probably doesn't mean she needs me in particular. She just needs some person to hold her. As much as I want that person to be me, I want even more for her to say I'm the only person she wants with her. But I know she won't. "Are you on your period or something?" she teases, reverting back to her old habits. "You've never been this easily offended."

"I'm not offended," I shoot back. "Or at least I wasn't until you brought up my menstrual cycle."

"Then why are you upset?" What a stupid question. Only hours ago, I witnessed someone I care about having a flashback far more traumatic than any I've ever experienced, and I felt absolutely powerless to help her. In fact, I made it worse by restraining her. I know those few minutes were much worse for her than they were for me, but now that I am finally giving myself a moment to reflect on it, I realize I've been on edge ever since that first lightning strike. Seeing Johanna in such a vulnerable and perhaps even endangered state made me realize how important she is to me, much like how seeing Gale lying bloodied on my kitchen table and Peeta dead on the jungle floor brought their importance to light. And those feelings I've just discovered are confusing and overwhelming, especially in combination with the effect she has on me physically, which I cannot say either of the boys really have. Combine all of that with Johanna's words and other relationships making me feel so small and insignificant, and it's far too much to process. My nerves are beyond frayed.

"I have a lot on my mind," I succinctly sum it up.

"Oh, no," she taunts in possibly the most patronizing voice ever, "does the mockingjay have too much going on in that teeny tiny little head?"

"Fuck off, Johanna," I bark. She chuckles a little but then becomes eerily silent. When she finally speaks again, her tone is much different. It's soft. It's uncertain.

"You know… Everdeen…" The hesitation in her voice is what finally prompts me to roll over and take a good look at her. She's still sitting cross-legged, gazing down at her fidgeting, grubby hands. "I don't know how to ask for things." The fear in her eyes is unmistakable when she shifts them up to meet mine. I just stare unwaveringly at her, and her jaw twitches as her eyes bounce away. She takes in a shaky breath before admitting, "But I don't think I can sleep alone tonight." I'm torn between empathy and anger. This is not my problem, as much as I'd like it to be.

"Call Finnick, get him to come cuddle you," I grouse. Johanna looks genuinely surprised.

"Finnick? Who said anything about Finnick?" My eyes narrow, and she admits, "I may have cuddled with him in a few rare moments of weakness over the years, but that's not really our thing. We're like brothers, you know?" I'm slightly amused and puzzled at Johanna sort of referring to herself as a boy, but it's not the most pressing question on my mind at the moment.

"So then what are we like?" I catch the ghost of a smile of Johanna's face before she can duck her head to hide it.

"We're… we're something else." She looks back up and lets me see the warmth in her expression briefly before slipping so seamlessly back into her signature smirk. "Not brothers," she specifies with a wink. I roll my eyes, and she adds, "We're not really sisters, either."

"You know," I grin despite myself, "back when you were a total bitch to me in the Quell, I wondered if that's what it's like to have an older sister who really hates you." Johanna genuinely laughs at this, and I again feel the floating sensation of pride I am getting used to experiencing whenever I help her improve her mood or forget her troubles. Who am I kidding? Even if it's scary, I want to do that for her tonight. I want to hold her and chase away the nightmares. I'd want to do that even if I didn't feel like her torment was my fault. But I'm not going to give in that easily. I want to hear her ask again.

"Maybe that's actually what it is," she jokes. "Annoying siblings. I mean, you were always way too eager to get my approval."

"Yeah right," I scoff. "I was just putting up with you until I had to kill you."

"And I was just putting up with you because I wasn't allowed to kill you. Sadly."

"That must have been _very_ frustrating for you," I smirk.

"Oh, you have no idea just how frustrating you can be, girl on fire." Johanna's eyes dance with some unspoken challenge, and she starts plucking at her bottom lip again. It takes me a moment of feeling mesmerized yet oddly uncomfortable to recognize this as yet another variation of that look she keeps giving me that makes my stomach burble in nervousness. But it's nervous in a way I sort of enjoy, in a way that ignites my insides in anticipation of some hidden meaning I've yet to discover but think I'm going to like. Whatever the challenge in her eyes is, I want to meet it.

"Hmm, is that so?" When Johanna nods, I grin and turn back over. "Goodnight, Seven," I salute her airily. Johanna groans in frustration behind me, and my smile widens further.

"Katniss Everdeen, get your ass back in my bed right now," she orders. "Don't make me come over there." I'd just wanted her to ask once more for me to come back, but for some reason her demanding it is even better, and there's no way I'm not obeying that directive. The connotation attached to the way she just said it doesn't hurt, either. I roll back over and cock an eyebrow at the girl.

"Was that intended to sound extremely sexual?" Judging from the smirk on Jo's face, it probably was. I huff in a poorly executed attempt to seem hesitant or offended before swinging my feet down to the floor.

Johanna wiggles her eyebrows and responds lewdly, "Take it that way if you want, darling. But I thought you were supposed to be the pure one." I side-eye her as I make my way towards the door to dim the lights.

"You're an asshole."

"That's why you like me," Johanna grins, pulling back her covers. She crawls under them just as the lights go down.

"I don't like you," I state matter-of-factly.

There's no hesitation on my part this time when I slip into Johanna's bed. I roll her forward onto her side and wrap myself around her, sliding my right arm under her neck and my left over her waist. She threads the fingers of her left hand through mine from underneath my palm and pulls my arm tighter around her, my whole body snugly into her. She lets out a deep breath as she finally relaxes, and wriggles to get into a comfortable sleeping position. I have to fight to steady my breath and hands as her butt grinds against my pubic bone when she does this, but once she stills I simply lean forward and bury my face in the crook of her neck.

We remain silent now, despite all that is left unsaid. Maybe that's safer, given how well talking always seems to go. Or maybe words are just unnecessary.

* * *

><p>AN: Only 3 chapters in, and I'm already deviating from my original plan to stick with a series of one-shots. This chapter is not super important in regards to the overall plot, but I wanted to play around with Katniss's insecurity and confusion regarding her feelings for Johanna as well as take some time to develop the relationships other than Joniss, and just develop the characters in general. Prim may seem a little OOC here, but I purposely did that because I wanted to explore Johanna drawing a more playful side out of Prim as Prim pulls a sweeter side out of her.

I'd especially appreciate feedback on this chapter because it feels a bit weak to me. I mean, it's hard to write a strong follow-up to a really intense chapter like the last one, but even not considering that I'm still a bit unsure of how I feel about it - I almost didn't post it at all. It's just following Katniss's crazy emotional trajectory as opposed to much of any real action, mostly because a lot of this was originally supposed to be in chapter 2 and was part of that sort of mini plot line. I may make changes to this chapter or shift some of the events to other chapters and just get rid of this one so it's not just sort of a weird filler chapter. Katniss is definitely OOC here, but it's by design because the idea was that it's her first time dealing with feelings this strong and it's completely thrown her... but I think she may be too OOC, even considering the lack of sleep. So please, leave comments on what works and what doesn't so I can get some fresh perspectives on it.

UPDATE: Thanks so much for all the feedback on both fanfic sites. I'm glad to hear the chapter and narration did not sound too scattered to anyone else. I'm pretty sure it seemed that way to me because there are several unifying concepts in it that I was trying to juggle and I was focusing too much on the wrong one. I've changed the chapter title and a bit of phrasing in a few places where I felt it could be improved, but overall it's very much the same so there's no need to go back and re-read it (unless of course you love it so much that you want to, which is a huge compliment and I'm not gonna stop you). :)


	4. Backup

A/N: Just a few things I think I should mention again:

1) I don't own the Hunger Games franchise or any of the characters, but I do sometimes like to take material directly from canon and slightly alter it or flesh it out. I do some of that in this chapter because it would have felt strange at this point to jump around those scenes with no connecting context, and I wanted to delve deeper into them anyway.

2) I tend to favour movie canon over book canon if there's a discrepancy when referring to things that were said and done in the earlier installments, though I do use a lot of both.

3) Angst.

* * *

><p>"This has to stop." I blink up from my training booklet to see Johanna staring hard at me across the gap between our beds. I can't even guess what I've done to incur her wrath this time.<p>

"What does?" I ask cautiously.

"Us living in the hospital. Everyone views us as patients. Me in particular." I exhale in relief at the realization that I am not the target of her ire. Johanna has been snapping at everyone she's interacted with today, which has been mostly doctors but also me. Johanna and I had flipped positions sometime in the night and woken up to a dead arm and sore ribs, respectively. It was a bad start to a bad day of prodding visits from doctors, and I was honestly glad to leave her behind when I went to training because by only ten minutes after waking she was already even crankier than I was yesterday after I felt snubbed by that comment about her protecting me for the revolution.

"Yeah, it must be getting claustrophobic in here for you," I sympathize. Even I can't stand being forced to stay in one place, and I've never been held prisoner like she has.

"You have no idea," she replies emphatically, but accurately. "I can't deal with one more fucking doctor coming in here to 'check up on me.' And if we're not on morphling anymore, neither of us has a reason to stay." I nod in agreement despite the fact that I do kind of have a reason to stay, at least as long as she is here, but then she breaks eye contact and mutters, "I can't wait to get the hell out of here." That feels a bit like a slap to the face even though I know it has more to do with the doctors and the confinement than the company. I go back to staring at the book, rather mindlessly this time. It's ripped from my grasp in a matter of seconds, and before I even have a chance to look up at Johanna she's tossing it over her shoulder and onto her bed. She leans down and braces her hands on my knees, her eyes intense and unblinking. My throat swells and tightens, along with other parts of my body, but I reflexively lean back despite the now familiar urge to move closer because Johanna in attack mode is still marginally more scary than sexy. …Sexy? Well shit. "Well are you coming with me or not, mockingjay?" I blink away and swallow, not entirely sure what she means or how to answer, or even if I could speak at the moment. "Huh?" she taunts, canting her head to the side to chase my gaze.

I force my face into the closest thing to an indifferent mask as I can manage, meet her eyes, and can only hope my voice sounds halfway steady when I ask, "You mean like move with you?"

"I mean like come with me to talk to the bloody doctors, brainless. My 24 hours is up and I'm not letting them keep me here. But I could use the backup." I try not to let my disappointment show as I nod and take the hand she offers to pull me off the bed. It's really not necessary because my feet aren't even touching the ground, but I'm not going to complain.

Negotiating the move turns out to be quite the chore, especially since "negotiate" is hardly in Johanna's vocabulary. I'm not much better at it myself. I enlist Haymitch's help over dinner following an ugly argument between Johanna and a few of the doctors that I had to pull her away from before she did anything more to make them think she's unstable. He's known Johanna longer than any of us, and as I recall from my standoff versus Romulus Thread, he's an expert negotiator and manipulator. Just how great a manipulator he is is still a point of contention between us due to his underhanded dealings during the Quarter Quell, but if I can take advantage of it, I might as well. Plus he sort of owes me for lying to me and letting Peeta and Johanna get captured. Well, letting Peeta get captured. I guess that was the sole issue at the time.

The doctors seem to have little problem with discharging me, especially since I'd be living with two members of the hospital staff, but I'm determined not to leave Johanna behind again, even if it means breaking up our cozy living arrangement. Haymitch's appeals that Johanna could still come in to see her head doctor as often as they wanted and that everyone involved would be so much happier if she was as far away as possible don't do much to sway the doctors. Their continued references to her seizure despite them clearing her to train again make me wonder if they might be suspicious of our story, but if they are they never explicitly say so. I think they may have noticed her misery after my rib treatment and put two and two together about the morphling as well. It eventually becomes clear that the crux of the matter is that they are simply not willing to let her live alone if she is discharged. What good fortune.

"She won't be alone. I'm going to room with her," I announce. Haymitch raises an eyebrow and Johanna turns to me in surprise. Gratefulness and relief are evident in her expression for a split second, but then she narrows her eyes and turns to scowl at the doctors.

"I don't need a fucking babysitter," she spits.

"No," I counter, "you need an ally. Just like I do." Her pride still seems to be smarting, so I smirk and add jokingly, "We'll baby-sit each other, okay?" Perhaps unsurprisingly, this isn't particularly comforting to the doctors, but it gives Haymitch another idea. He suggests we could be situated in a compartment near my family so my mother can keep an eye on us. There's still some dissent, but once Mom is brought into the discussion and professes her utmost confidence in us and her own willingness to keep tabs on the situation, the doctors finally relent. The compartment next to her and Prim is vacant at the moment, so they assign it to us and then leave us to collect what few items we have in our current room, but not before some parting warnings about how we are expected to adhere to our schedules and in general behave, which only induces eye rolls from both of us. We're off to a great start, apparently.

***o***

"Quite the upgrade." Jo smirks over her shoulder and steps into compartment 2211 so I can get a better look. It's no surprise to me because it's pretty much just a mirror image of the one next door that I used to live in, but it really shouldn't be one to her either given that she's visited Finnick and Annie in theirs.

"At least we don't have doctors checking up on us now," I point out.

"Yeah, only your mother," she says as she drops her cargo and flops down on the bed lining the left wall of the sleeping nook. The compartment as a whole is probably the same size as our hospital room, but the layout makes it seem cramped.

I gesture at the bathroom door to my right and inform her, "The compartment bathrooms are bigger. Nicer, too." Johanna raises her head and links her hands behind it, her expression somewhere between annoyed and amused.

"What's with the need to be so optimistic, Everdeen? That's not like you."

"Well why are you complaining?" I shoot back. "You got what you wanted. Or would you rather check yourself back into the hospital?"

"Because I've had a shit day and I want to vent. Is that really such a crime?"

"You've been venting all day already," I mutter irritably. I cross the room to the small dresser nestled against the back wall between the beds and tuck my clothes away in one of the drawers, laying my few other possessions on top of them. I sneak a glance over at Johanna in time to see her watching me, but she just blinks lazily and turns her head to stare at the ceiling again. I sigh as I shut the drawer and open another. "Here," I say, extending a hand towards the clothes she'd dumped on her bed upon arrival. When she looks over and sees me pointing at her stuff, her eyebrows peak in surprise but she hands over the pile without argument. The only thing she keeps is her military training booklet, which she drops haphazardly on the floor beside her bed while I stash her things in the drawer. She doesn't thank me, but then again, I never expected her to.

I grab my own training manual from where I'd placed it on the dresser and gingerly hoist myself up onto the free bed. The pain in my ribs has abated dramatically in the two days since my treatment, but they're still a bit tender and I've been trying to rest them as much as possible in my free time. Conversely, I've been pushing my body to the limit and well past any reasonable pain threshold during the training sessions, and I'm exhausted both physically and mentally. But my desire to get to the Capitol and kill President Snow far outweighs this fatigue, so I open the reading material and pick up where I left off during Reflection. I've just settled on my back and barely read a paragraph when a knock on the door breaks my concentration. I drop the open book on my face and release an exasperated groan.

"Seriously?" I whine. I drag the book down to my chest and am about to get up when I hear Johanna's feet hitting the floor.

"It's okay, I'll get it." When I hear the door open a few seconds later, it's immediately followed by Johanna's voice purring out, "Hello, gorgeous."

"Johanna," Gale responds curtly. I sit up abruptly as he steps further into the compartment and into my line of sight. He casually says, "I thought I'd come check out your new place."

"They're pretty much all the same," I point out. I'm somewhat annoyed that he's imposing himself on me here in our compartment, but I'm also glad to see him. We didn't exactly part well yesterday and didn't sit together for any meals today, so I hope this is a reconciliatory gesture as opposed to a jealous one. His eyes briefly flick out into the hall and pull me off the bed and out the door instinctively. He shuts the door behind us and we begin walking aimlessly.

"I was down in Special Defense this afternoon," he says once we're in a quieter area. "Saw Beetee's latest project." Terrific. I really don't want to deal with another round of jealous Gale right now.

"So, what, are you pissed I didn't commission some gadget for you too?" I retort.

"No." I look up in surprise. "I was going to say that was really thoughtful of you." My confusion must be obvious, because he continues, "I know you don't hate her."

"But you do," I state.

"I don't trust her," he corrects me. "And I think she's kind of a jerk."

"You think it?" I smile. "I know it." Gale exhales heavily and scratches his neck.

"Yeah…" He stops and leans against the wall. "I guess I just thought the last person I'd ever be competing with for your attention would be Johanna Mason."

"Gale…"

"I was thrown, but I shouldn't have been mean about it. I shouldn't have said anything about Peeta." That stings, even in the form of an apology. It must be evident in my face because he quietly adds, "I'm sorry." I nod in acknowledgement.

"Apology accepted."

"And… I know Johanna doesn't hate you either. I guess I like to think she does." I furrow my brow, but he just studies me quietly for a moment. Finally, he shrugs in response. "Hatred gives people space," he explains. "It creates solid boundaries, and those are safer. People can't stab you in the back if you don't let your guard down. Can't hit you in the head with a coil the second you turn your back."

"She did that-"

"I know why she did it. She'd agreed to do her best to keep you alive so the rebellion wouldn't die with you, even if she had to hurt you in the process. Not that I think she minded." I can feel my jaw and fists tightening at this affirmation of one of my insecurities. Gale sure knows how to jab my sore spots. I have to remind myself that he probably doesn't realize that Johanna's motives for protecting me is one of them. I inhale and exhale deeply and wiggle my fingers loose before replying. Gale notices but doesn't say anything about it.

"Didn't you just say you know she doesn't hate me?" I argue.

"Okay, fine," he relents. "But she's still a manipulative, cold-blooded killer. You must understand on some level. Don't you feel weird about her hanging out with Prim, for instance?" Yes, sort of, but not for the reason Gale seems to be implying. Johanna would never hurt Prim. And I like to think she would never hurt me, not anymore.

"No. I mean, when Prim told me she'd spent a lot of time with her at the hospital, I was mostly just glad she'd done something nice for Jo." His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, so I ramble on, "I felt terrible about what'd happened to her, I still do. And when it seemed Prim saw something good in her, I trusted her judgment."

"Prim sees the good in everyone, Katniss. She could probably see something good in President Snow if she wanted to." Gale holds up a hand as though to ward off the anger he must sense coming his way, and accurately so, because he just insulted the two people I care about most at the moment with one punch. "I know Johanna's not evil like him," he notes. "All I'm saying is that Prim's really optimistic."

"Prim's a great judge of character, actually," I snap. "Maybe she sees the good in Johanna because she's actually a good person, have you ever considered that?"

"She's never given me a reason to think so," he remarks. I scoff at that.

"Other than that she saved my life?" I demand, my voice rising in pitch and volume.

"All that proved is that she's on our side."

"Exactly!" I exclaim. "She's on our side, so what's the problem? I told you, we're allies. We have each other's backs. No one's going to kill anyone." He still doesn't look especially convinced or pleased. "You make it sound like we're mortal enemies. I guess we sort of were in the arena, but that wasn't anything personal. She had to die for Peeta to get out alive. Or so I thought." Gale's mouth puckers a little when I mention Peeta, but he lets it go.

"She won't kill you even if she wants to," he agrees, "at least not until the war is over. I just don't think she deserves you." My face crinkles at that. Deserves me? That's not the most platonic of phrasing, but I must be interpreting it wrong. There's nothing of that sort going on for him to be jealous of. Even if I think I might want there to be.

"What do you mean?" I inquire, battling to keep a straight face and guard against any defensiveness that might seep into my tone.

"You're going out of your way to do her all these favors, and it's only gonna bring you down." I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding until now. "It was really sweet of you to get Beetee to make her those axes, but now you've committed to practically babysitting her just so she can move out of the hospital," he specifies. "Are you even sure she's stable enough to be out?"

"I don't think you understand, Gale," I respond with a shake of my head. "I'm not just doing a bunch of favors for Johanna. She helps me too. She's actually a really good listener when she wants to be. And she's there for Prim when I'm not around, which is often with all the mockingjay bullshit I have to do." Gale's eyebrows jump practically to his hairline.

"Bullshit?"

"Okay, yeah," I concede, "I know it's important for the war. I do. But it takes a lot out of me, you know that."

"No, I mean I've never heard you say that word before." It takes me a second to recognize the hint of a smile on Gale's face and the fact that he's genuinely amused. "I guess I don't mind a bit of her spunk rubbing off on you. But don't call it 'mockingjay bullshit' in front of Coin or Plutarch, okay?" I lean in conspiratorially and grin.

"You gonna rat me out?" I whisper. "Now that you have your communicuff back?"

"I think I can keep a secret or two," he replies with a wink. I nudge him playfully and start walking again. He follows.

"We don't have to agree on this," says Gale a short time later. "Just… be careful with her, okay?"

"I am," I state emphatically. "I'm careful with everyone, you know. She's earned my trust, and that's what's important, not whether or not she's earned anyone else's. Not even yours." He raises his eyebrows at this comment but doesn't contest it.

"Lucky for her, then. Johanna makes me nervous."

"I can tell. I mean, you did say you're terrified of her." He smiles ironically.

"That will never change."

***o***

It's a couple of hours later when I finally head back to my new compartment. Too late, in fact. I'm out of my assigned dwelling past the end of my allotted leisure time, and will barely have time to shower before lights out. Adhering to my schedule, check. I'd taken Gale up on his offer of a makeup study session for the one we were supposed to have yesterday, but in the last half hour we just ended up goofing around with Posy and the boys and losing track of time. I think I might have even forgotten that we're in the middle of a war for a few minutes, despite the original reason for the visit. When I shut the door to my new home behind me, I'm treated to a soft wolf whistle from behind Johanna's training booklet. She lowers it a few inches so I can see her saucy eyes and wiggling eyebrows, but I quickly duck my head as I blush on my way to the dresser.

"No, nothing like that," I mutter. "Gale's just a friend."

"And here I thought he was your cousin?" I look up and am treated to an exaggerated wink.

"Funny, Mason." I dig my sleeping clothes out of my drawer and am starting to head to the bathroom when she speaks again.

"He doesn't think he's just your friend, though, does he?" she asks, her tone more serious this time. I turn back to her and study her expression, faintly hoping to find a hint of jealousy, but unfortunately her face is unreadable. I deflate with a sigh under her gaze and shrug half-heartedly.

"It's complicated," I mumble. She raises her eyebrows.

"I'll say." I badly need to change the subject. Although I know that talking about boys is pretty standard fare for girls other than me and Madge, I'm really not comfortable discussing my romantic entanglements with Johanna now that I've realized she kind of is one. I clear my throat.

"Sorry I left you alone, by the way," I say. "I was going to come right back, but he offered to help me study."

"I wasn't alone," she replies. "Prim just left at ten." I'm relieved to find myself happy to hear this. I guess I'm more reasonable when I'm not sleep-deprived. Or when I've spent the whole previous night in physical contact with Johanna and finally feeling irreplaceable in that role, at least for the moment. Even if the first thing she did this morning was bitch me out for cutting off her circulation.

"Did you win the cards back?" I ask. She shakes her head.

"We didn't play, we were just talking."

"Oh." I nod after holding her gaze for a few seconds, then resume my journey to the shower. "Good."

"Good?" she asks teasingly through a half-smirk.

"Yeah," I repeat with a smile, bracing my forearm high on the bathroom's doorframe and leaning on it. "Good."

Johanna has just finished changing into a nightshirt when I emerge from the bathroom, but she's foregone the complementary pants in favor of a pair of those tiny undershorts I also wear. The fact that I'm surprised she is wearing so much when she's just in a t-shirt and her underwear says a lot. Yesterday's muddy smudges were already gone from her skin by the time I returned from training, so I'm not surprised she didn't bother to take a shower before changing. Not that there's time for one now anyway. She goes to put away her clothes but opens the wrong drawer, and I catch her peeking for half a second before she shuts it quickly. "Sorry."

I think how there's nothing in Johanna's drawer but her government-issued clothes. That she doesn't have one thing in the world to call her own. Not even Prim's deck of cards, at the moment. "It's okay," I assure her as she shuts her own drawer. "You can look at my stuff if you want." She quirks an eyebrow.

"You didn't feel that way when I was helping you get dressed yesterday." I shut my eyes and groan as Johanna laughs. I'm not going to dignify that with a verbal response. Besides, I'm too busy trying not to blush. Jo unlatches my locket, studying the pictures of Gale, Prim, and my mother. She opens the silver parachute and pulls out the spile and slips it onto her pinkie. "Makes me thirsty just looking at it." Then she finds the pearl Peeta gave me. "Is this-?"

"Yeah," I say. "Made it through somehow." I don't want to talk about Peeta. One of the best things about training is, it keeps me from thinking of him. My recent distraction in the form of the scrappy victor rooting through my things has also helped in that regard.

"Haymitch says he's getting better," she mentions in a way that I think was supposed to be nonchalant. But her eyes flit away when I meet them with mine and her fingers suddenly feel the need to roll the pearl firmly between them, so she's not passing that off as a casual remark.

"Maybe," I agree guardedly. "But he's changed." Somehow I've ended up talking about both boys with Johanna tonight. So much for not discussing my romantic entanglements.

"So have you," she points out. "So have I. And Finnick and Haymitch and Beetee. Don't get me started on Annie Cresta. The arena fucked us all up pretty good, don't you think? Or do you still feel like the girl who volunteered for your sister?"

"No," I answer. Not even close.

"That's the one thing I think my head doctor might be right about," she admits. "There's no going back. So we might as well get on with things." Her eyes linger on mine for a moment before she almost imperceptibly wets and bites a corner of her lower lip and turns back to the dresser to put my keepsakes away. It's kind of adorable how neatly she does this, like she's afraid of disturbing my life or something. It's far too late for that. She braces her hands on the lip of the dresser after she shuts my drawer, then takes in an audible breath and turns her head my way. She smirks off my quizzical expression and crosses the floor to her bed. "Sleep tight, mockingjay," she tosses over her shoulder.

I'm glad she isn't facing me because there's no way I could have disguised the disappointment on my face. Sharing a bed was certainly not my greatest motivating factor in offering to room with Johanna, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping it might happen again. I want to protest, but I don't have her confidence and can't find it in me to command someone to come sleep in my bed, and I don't really have a good reason to simply ask. Other than the fact that, before last night, I don't think I've slept so soundly without the influence of sedatives since I was reaped. But that's hardly something I can just tell her. So instead I watch helplessly as she crawls under her covers just as the lights go out, and begrudgingly follow suit. It's not a minute later that her voice rings out through the darkness.

"You're not afraid I'll kill you tonight?" This is kind of a ridiculous question seeing as we've already been living together for awhile, though I guess we are less supervised now. I squirm a little at the thought, but not for the reason most people would assume. The question is also ridiculous because we're both physically and emotionally wrecked and in no shape to be fighting. But if we were, I wouldn't let her get the upper hand. She already has the upper hand on me in far too many ways.

"Like I couldn't take you." This is met with a few seconds of silence followed by a chuckle and the rustle of Johanna shifting under her bedding.

"Wow, Everdeen," she drawls, "I never expected you to be so forward." I puzzle over this for a few seconds before I realize what I just said and my cheeks light on fire. I'm glad Johanna can't see me blushing in the darkness. "Holy shit, Twelve, I can feel the heat from your face from here." But I guess she can sense it anyway. I try to come up with a witty response, but nothing comes to mind.

"Pervert," is all I manage to sputter out.

The nightmares return full force tonight, perhaps to make up for my last sleep being so peaceful. The truly cruel thing about dreams is that sometimes you know you're dreaming, but you still can't make yourself wake up or even feel less panic or behave rationally according to what you know in your waking state. Like how when I find myself on my knees in front of a whimpering Johanna, rocking herself on the muddy training field as thunder rumbles above us, I still grab her limbs and pin her down despite my brain screaming at me not to do it. I again see her face lose its color, her eyes widen in terror, and her mouth open, but what I hear is by far the worst part.

"Katniss!" screams the voice coming from Johanna's lungs, immediately sapping all my strength and reason. "Katniss, help!" screams my little sister.

"Prim!" I shake the flailing body beneath me, I guess in some hopeless attempt to dislodge the misplaced voice from it. "Prim!" My panic increases as her voice only grows louder. I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming. I know this isn't real.

"No! I won't tell you a thing!" If it had been heartbreaking to hear those words from Johanna before, hearing them in Prim's voice feels like it could literally kill me. At least in the sense of the dream, but that would actually be good because then I'd wake up. Knowing I'm dreaming doesn't make this any more bearable, much like knowing I was hearing jabberjays instead of my loved ones in the Quell didn't help. Jabberjay. This Johanna's just a jabberjay. She's another one of Snow's mutts created to terrorize me. "I won't!" How clever. His favourite mutts were always the ones with completely fucked-up psychological components.

I need to kill this thing. Killing the jabberjays in the arena shut them up, and there's only one mutt here, so that should bring me precious silence. A quick survey of my surroundings reveals no gun and no bow, so I use my most readily available weapon. I wriggle up Johanna's body so I'm kneeling on her chest and begin driving my fist into her face repeatedly, but each blow only increases the agony and volume of Prim's screams. I can't handle this. I can't listen to this for a second longer. I wrap my hands around Johanna's neck and squeeze with all of my strength.

"Shut up shut up shut up!" I holler. The girl's eyes bulge as she fights to suck in any air. Her struggling intensifies, but I bear down harder, nostrils flaring and teeth grinding together. Johanna's bloody face starts to flush and contort in horrible ways, but at least I can't hear Prim anymore. She suddenly bucks her hips desperately, and as I fly up my grip momentarily loosens and she frantically inhales.

"Kat-" Johanna chokes out just as I lock my hands around her throat again. Wait, Johanna chokes out? My hands go lax again in shock. "Katniss!" Johanna wheezes. "What are you doing?"

"I-" She shoves me backwards with such superhuman force I fly off of her completely and land flat on my back in the mud, the blow rendering me temporarily unable to breathe either. I roll onto my side and struggle to regain control of my diaphragm, eventually managing to cough. I look up and see Johanna looming over me, swiping at her bloody chin. She studies her soiled hand for a few seconds before turning her suddenly livid eyes back to me. I ready myself for the worst possible things Johanna could say to me, but unfortunately I don't get so lucky.

"I hate you!" Prim screams from Johanna's body. My jaw slackens as I feel the blood draining from my head. This isn't happening. This isn't real. My name is Katniss Ever- "I hate you!"

"Prim, no, I didn't-" There is really no way I can explain, no way to justify what I just did, but I don't even get the chance to try because I am immediately accosted by a flock of actual jabberjays swooping down to take up the chorus. There must be dozens of them echoing Prim's words, deafening even through the hands I've clamped over my ears. I desperately look up to Johanna for help, but her lips form the same words and I have to screw my eyes shut. The calls from the birds begin to morph, some still declaring their hatred for me while others begin crying for my help like Prim did before. But I can't help my sister, not now, not ever. Every time I try to help someone, I hurt other people. I just proved that to myself yet again, in a very strange way. I still can't help but cry out for her. "Prim!" My voice is so shaky and weak even I can barely hear it. I pull in a ragged breath and try again louder. "Prim!" Johanna's suddenly grasping my forearms and shaking me, letting out a horrible shriek in Prim's voice just inches from my face. I struggle fruitlessly against her grasp and scream as loud as I can just to drown out the unbearable noise.

"Katniss!" That's her own voice again. I try to swat at her face, but her grip on me is too strong. "Katniss, wake up!" The command coming from her lips finally allows me to do what I've been wanting to all along. I bolt upright in my bed, sucking in a loud, labored breath. All I see in the dim light is Johanna and her worried face, but my eyes dart around to scope out any signs of danger as I force wheezing breaths in and out of my lungs. "Hey, hey!" she barks, snapping her fingers in front of my face to grab my attention. I force myself to focus my eyes on her, and this helps a bit. "Katniss, you're okay," she says evenly. "Prim's okay. It was just a nightmare." Yes, that's right, I knew that at some point before the panic completely overtook me. I let my torso fall back heavily onto the bed and wipe some of the numerous beads of sweat from my face with a shaky hand. "It wasn't real," Jo continues, now leaning over me. "You're in Thirteen. You're with me."

My name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm seventeen years old. I'm a refugee in District 13. I live with Johanna Mason. I just strangled Johanna Mason. I just strangled my own sister. I'm a monster. I'm truly a monster. Peeta was right.

"Was it the birds?" Johanna's voice breaks into my thoughts. I nod as a tear rolls down towards my ear. She swipes it away with a hand that she then lays on my shoulder. "Prim's safe," she assures me again. "Do you want to go see her?" I shake my head.

"It's okay," I force out hoarsely. "I know I was dreaming." Johanna nods silently just as I turn my head to look at her. She watches me for a few moments before I start to feel a gentle increase in pressure on my shoulder as she shifts her weight to straighten up. I clamp my hand around her wrist immediately, panic rising in my chest. I know my eyes and my touch must betray my desperation, but I don't care. Johanna's eyes change too. They seem to melt along with the rest of her face.

"Stay," I say, though I'm not sure if it comes out more as a supplication or a command. "Please." I half expect Johanna to play coy and make me beg given her initial reluctance to lie down with me yesterday and my subsequent testing of her by making her ask me to come back to her bed multiple times, but I guess she is a better person than I am. Imagine that. Actually, I believe it easily, even if the rest of Panem would never would. Especially after that dream. She pulls back my blankets and nudges me in a silent order to move over before slipping in beside me. I curl up on my left side and hope she understands what I need without me having to ask for it. She does.

The tears start in earnest the second her arms wrap around me and her warm body presses against my back. I find her hands and grip them like my very life depends on it, perhaps even tighter than I did when I was slipping off the cornucopia island. I initially try to fight the noises bursting from my chest, because I still have some vestige of pride remaining, but I surrender when I feel her lips land softly on the juncture of my shoulder and neck. This is the first time I've cried since shortly after Peeta came back, save for leaking a few tears of sorrow after I saw him following the wedding and a few of relief when Johanna came back to reality yesterday, so there's a lot to release. I find it surprisingly comforting that Johanna doesn't shush me, choosing instead to communicate only through tiny movements of her thumbs against mine. It's like she understands exactly what I need. What I need is to fall apart and have that be okay, instead of feeling pressured to quiet down or get my shit together and guilty if I can't. I'm the mockingjay. Though I've been falling apart ever since I got here, there's never really been a safe place for me to do so. Until now.

"Come here," she mumbles, scooting herself backwards and rolling me so we're facing each other before enveloping me in her arms and tucking my head under her chin. The sudden rush of what feels simultaneously like vulnerability and security breaks down any remaining resistance I have and sets off a fresh round of sobs and muted wails. It's not just the nightmare causing them anymore. It's my grief over failing and losing Peeta. It's my knowledge of what was done to him and Johanna because of me. It's my memories of the flashback and of being strangled, of witnessing the effects of their torture firsthand. It's my confusion and anxiety over my newly discovered feelings for Johanna and whether or not they might be reciprocated in any way. It's the relief of being in her arms and feeling like she never wants to let go either. I'm clutching her shirt so tightly my knuckles must be blanching and I'm soaking it with tears, but I don't really care. Any guise of dignity I'd been performing for her is long gone by now anyway.

My eyes shut reflexively at the feeling of Jo's fingers running along my scalp and through my first few inches of hair. After many repetitions of this, I'm finally able to draw in a breath that is deeper, though somewhat unsteady, and force out a heavy, shuddering exhale punctuated only by the odd sob. She doesn't stop even once my crying finally slows and quiets to whimpers and strangled breaths through my painfully constricted throat, though the tears are still flowing freely and my fists have only wound themselves tighter into her shirt. At some point, her chest expands fuller against my face and air passes audibly through her lips, so despite my own continued sounds I listen for what she might have to say.

"Deep in the meadow," she croons almost in a whisper, "under the willow…" I've suddenly gone mute, mostly out of shock but also because her singing voice is divine. "A bed of grass, a soft green pillow…" She moves her hand to my cheek and tucks the strands sticking to it behind my ear as she continues, "Lay down your head, and close your eyes… and when they open, the sun will rise." She gently pulls back from me after a few seconds of silence so her eyes can commune with mine. The glistening trails across her own face come as a surprise to me, but her expression is not sad so much as pensive. She swallows and runs her fingertips behind my ear again before actually speaking.

"That's all I know," she mumbles apologetically. "That's all you sang in your Games." I can't stop staring, and neither can she. But then dread suddenly overtakes her face and she begins searching mine anxiously. I squint curiously and she shakes her head and begins rambling, her eyes wide. "I shouldn't have. Shit, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to bring up Rue or anything, I just-"

"Shh," I rasp out softly, pressing a finger to her lips. "Don't apologize." I probably leave my hand there longer than is strictly necessary before returning it to the now damp and very wrinkled part of her shirt that it had been grabbing before. "That was beautiful." I'm relieved to see her face relax somewhat, though her eyes haven't quite lost their tortured haze. I squeeze her side with my other hand in an attempt to pull her back from wherever her consciousness is holed up, and her focus seems to return. Her mouth twitches and she moves to place a lingering kiss on my forehead.

I consciously bury my face in Johanna's chest again when she starts to pull back, because I know that if I don't then nothing will stop me from cupping her jaw and leaning up to press a fervent kiss to her lips. It's the only way I could truly convey how I feel, how much her comfort means to me, how much she means to me. And I can't deny I want another chance to kiss her, maybe even take this one a bit further. I can't deny I want to taste her, want to run my tongue along hers and over her lips, want our breaths to mingle until we are both breathless. But this is different than on the training field. Not only are we both fully aware of our surroundings, but I have no excuse to kiss her this time other than that I want to, and I'm not comfortable with her knowing that I do. If she wanted to kiss me on the lips, she probably would have done it already around the time she woke me up. There's sort of precedent for it given that I'd kissed her when calming her down, albeit specifically to pull her back to reality. But then again, maybe she wasn't entirely aware of it or doesn't remember.

"Katniss?" I only become aware of Johanna's hands tracing circles over my back when I hear her voice. I snuffle and wipe my eyes with my left hand before draping the arm over her side again.

"Yeah?"

"How does the rest of it go?" Here it's safe, here it's warm. Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true. Here is the place where I love you.

"Maybe I'll teach you some day."

* * *

><p>Special thanks to BDewitt (also known on the internets as District 7 Profanity) for beta reading the Everthorne scene for me.<p>

I probably won't get another chapter up before MJ1 comes out because I'll be working a lot and I have to rewatch the first two movies at least once before next Thursday night. (in Caesar voice) So exciting!

But yeah, I hope this holds you all over until then. I will still be writing in the meantime and I hope it won't be too long before I can post another update.

UPDATE: I've edited this to reflect the compartment layout from Mockingjay Part 1.


	5. Surprises

Thanks for your patience. I took a bit of a break and I've been working (and going to the movies, of course) a lot, so I haven't had as much time to work on this. It's also quite long, which I hope compensates for the wait.

I've updated chapter 4 to reflect the compartment layout in Mockingjay Part 1, and I'll be using it from here on out. I especially prefer using movie canon when it comes to things I can visualize.

The usual notes apply regarding angst and the use/alteration of book canon material.

* * *

><p>I grin with excitement as I feel the elevator decelerating to a halt beneath my feet. When the doors split apart I'm already twisting to squeeze a shoulder through and bolt out into the hallways of Special Defense. I catch a few admonishing glances that would have been better suited for some unruly child running through the halls of the school in Twelve, though I already feel like an unruly child in this moment anyway, bursting with energy and itching to use my impressive foot speed to reach the destination and moment I've been waiting for all day. The glares convince me to slow to a speed walk all the same, mostly for the sake of keeping up appearances as a mentally oriented and responsible adult.<p>

Johanna was initially angry when she pulled her arm out of the tattooing contraption this morning and saw she was only scheduled for training through the early afternoon. She'd been hoping to make up for the lost day as much as possible, understandably. I had to hide my giddiness at seeing 15:00 - Special Defense printed on her arm behind a studious squint at the ink and a theatrical shrug. I personally think I did a horrible job of feigning confusion, but Johanna was so confused herself that she didn't seem to notice. I abated her disappointment somewhat by noting that we would probably be on the shooting range by that point and she would have been relegated to the role of observer anyway, but the glumness never quite left her expression.

"I don't like surprises," she said.

"Maybe it's one you'll like," I ventured cautiously, still fighting to keep my excitement under wraps.

"I doubt it."

She mulled over skipping the assignment until I reminded her of our orders to adhere to our schedules on pain of readmittance to the hospital. It felt strange not having her at my hip on the range, mocking me and complaining about the food or Soldier York, but my excitement easily overshadowed this. My one regret of sorts is that I didn't get to see her initial reaction to the weapons I'd commissioned for her. I can only hope she was half as impressed by them as I was by the gorgeous bow that comes to life in my hands alone. I'm not even sure I'll get to see her with them at all because we're both supposed to be home for Reflection at the moment, but I'm hoping she was so excited she lost track of time. That's definitely a bit optimistic and presumptuous on my part.

I pass the hummingbird room on my way to the armory and halt mid-step. There she is. There's the Johanna Mason I remember. The woman chucking and wielding her axes with flair is precisely the one I stole glances at in the Training Center, the one who fascinated me in the 71st Hunger Games. She is spirited. Poised. Fierce.

I can't help but stare in awe as the girl strikes her wrists against her hipbones just as she drops into a tuck and roll maneuver and then reaches up to flawlessly nab the returning axes from the air. It must be a couple of seconds later before I finally blink and realize that my mouth is hanging open, and in that time she has already popped up onto her feet and begun a complex choreography of footwork and defensive moves with the weapons. She lodges one axe in a tree before I can even tell she's switching to attack mode, then grasps the other with both hands and starts chopping at the air. Her grunts and gasps are audible even through the glass and even more striking than her physical moves, at least according to my stomach. This is definitely not the first time I've felt this stirring in my gut while watching Johanna handle axes, but it's the first time I've recognized it for what it is. Johanna punctuates this realization with a particularly loud cry that resonates through my whole body and a swift whip of her arm to launch her remaining axe at the same tree.

I just have time to snap my mouth shut when I see her pivoting to face the window, but admiration must still be evident in my expression because she grins smugly and jerks her head to invite me to join her in the room. She hits her wrists on her hips again as I enter, catches both axes but immediately tosses one to the ground. She hooks the other over her shoulder and turns to me as I approach, an exaggerated lecherous smirk plastered on her face.

"Wanna play?" she asks, eyeing me up and down. I somehow control my face enough to just shoot her some silent side eye, much like the first time she asked me that after catching me staring. I don't walk away this time, though. Johanna just snorts. "I see your sense of humor hasn't improved. Did you enjoy the show, at least?" Right, of course she knew I was standing there, or at least that someone was. What victor can't sense when she is being watched?

"Very much," I praise her. "It was impressive." Johanna smiles in satisfaction before cracking her neck and running her hands up her face to wipe the sweat from her brow. Her eyes close and head tips back as her hands continue to move upwards past her forehead, and when I unconsciously start to rake my eyes down her torso they jump to the flesh now exposed above her waistband. The sight of her toned stomach stokes the smoldering coals in mine, and I let my eyes linger for probably a few seconds too long. I'm scared to look up and check if Johanna's noticed me ogling, so I just squeeze my eyes shut and groan under my breath.

"So, Twelve," I hear, causing my eyes to pop back open and meet hers, "are you just here to watch me play with my new toys?" She grins as she scratches her fuzzy scalp with both hands, and I force myself to keep looking into those playful eyes. It's not that I want to look away, but knowing I'm being watched and absolutely can't look down now makes it all that much more difficult not to drop my gaze to the tempting sight.

"Actually, I'm here to collect you for dinner. If you don't return those soon," I gesture towards the axes, "you're gonna be late." Johanna tilts her head to the side and eyes me up through an unconvinced smirk.

"You sure it's not at all to bask in the glory of watching me enjoy your little present?" she teases, running her fingers down the handle of the axe on her shoulder. "Beetee told me these were your idea." A genuine smile sneaks its way onto her face as she says this, and a blush seeps into my cheeks in response.

"Maybe a little," I concede with a teasing grin of my own. When she snorts I defensively add, "Well, they do say it's better to give than receive." Jo examines my expression for a few seconds before chuckling quietly to herself.

"I dunno, I kinda like both," she admits. She suddenly rotates her torso clockwise and snaps her right elbow into extension to sidearm the weapon in her hand into a tree behind her. I don't have time to scoop my jaw up off the ground before she spins back to gauge my expression this time. Smirking pompously at my reaction, she smacks her wrist against her hipbone one more time. My face puckers in irritation as she catches the oncoming axe.

"You're going to give yourself bruises doing that all the time," I nag. "You had a free hand that time, could have just pressed the damn button."

"But that's no fun," she complains as she collects her other axe off the ground. "And besides," she adds slyly, taking a small but calculated step closer, "what's the matter with bruises?" Given her tone and posture, I assume she must be referring to hickeys, though who knows what other ways Johanna knows to inflict bruises in a sexual manner. She takes another step, and when she tilts her head up to maintain eye contact I immediately identify that truly unnerving look she keeps giving me. It's even more unnerving when she's barely a foot away. I swallow and try to come up with a response or at least keep my heart from jumping out of my chest, but I'm not very successful at either. Seeing that now familiar expression in this context only adds credence my previously unconfirmed instinct that it infers something sexual. I guess that's good news in a sense because it means she's definitely flirting with me and maybe even finds me attractive, but it feels more like bad news at the moment because her smug grin informs me that she can tell it's having an impact, and that honestly seems to be all she wants. She's testing me and I'm failing miserably. I hate how easily she can get a rise out of me. I've always hated that, but I especially hate it now, with my heart or at the very least my pride on the line.

"I have to tell you something, mockingjay," she declares softly, her expression losing its levity. My stomach winds up even tighter at her suddenly serious face.

"What?" I murmur barely loud enough for either of us to hear me. My eyes widen a touch when she pushes up on her toes and leans forward, even though I can tell she's not aiming for my mouth. I do my best not to tremble when her cheek brushes by my chin and the subtle rush of air passing through her lips meets my ear, but my best is not very good in this case. I downright shudder when she whispers her reply, both at our proximity and at the sincerity in her tone.

"Thank you." She slowly withdraws, grazing her lips along my cheek for an inch before laying a gentle kiss at the corner of my mouth. This is familiar. Her eyes capture mine for a few seconds with an intensity that paralyzes me. A playful grin then works its way back onto her face and she hooks an axe over her shoulder again. She nods a farewell and exits the room, swinging the other weapon at her side. She throws me a final wink through the giant window on her way to the armory.

I don't follow her. I don't want to bother with all those pesky identification checks. And I need time to think. I approach the nearest tree and slide my back down it until I'm sitting in the grass, my eyes still wide and my brain all but incapacitated. I rest my elbows on my bent knees and drop my face into my palms. My fingertips work the tension from my temples and lower forehead, and slowly my thoughts become more coherent.

Johanna kissed me in the Quell. She actually did. I've had this fuzzy memory of it ever since I was rescued, but I always questioned it because it happened so fast and I was extremely disoriented at the time. That, and it was so out of place in the moment that it made no sense. Of course, so many things about how people treated Peeta and me in the Quell made no sense until later. I'd wondered if it actually happened but didn't feel comfortable asking anyone, and going back and watching Quell footage was absolutely out of the question given my mental state.

With the sensation of this latest kiss still burning on my skin and in my brain, I'm finally able to replay the scene in my brain confidently. Johanna had just sliced my arm open and rubbed my own blood all over my neck after knocking me upside the head with the coil of wire. She told me to stay down and popped her head up to look at something up the hill, then leaned back down and pecked me on the corner of my mouth before sitting up and hurling her axe, I guess at the careers. Then she was gone. My eyesight was hazy and my brain bewildered, so I couldn't trust either of them to be sure what happened. But my skin remembers that moment, and now with this reminder to draw from, the memory has crystallized. I tilt my head back against the bark and run the sequence through my mind a second time, trying to burn it in for good. I never want to forget it again.

I'm still running both memories through my brain on repeat and enjoying the calming warm sensation they bring my mind and gut when I hear the door slide open. "Did somebody say dinner?" Johanna's voice rings into the meadow. I turn my head as she approaches, and she gives me a quizzical look in response. "Why are you grinning like an idiot?" I immediately drop my face into a neutral stare. Her mouth wavers as a smile tries to fight its way to the surface. "Let's go, weirdo," she orders, nudging my hip with her toe. She extends a hand down to me and hauls me to my feet. I momentarily lose control of my jaw and eyes when I straighten up to find myself only inches from Johanna and her sinfully gorgeous face. Those expressive deep brown eyes. The lips that just kissed me. When I realize I'm running my thumb over the back of her hand, I drop it like a handful of glowing coals and take half a step back. She looks almost offended for a second, but laughs it off and heads for the door.

We silently make our way to the elevator, but it feels like a comfortable silence despite any awkwardness. I'm bowled over by another round of déjà vu when I turn around and see Johanna staring me down as the doors close behind her. Heat dusts my cheeks as I run my eyes over her nervously, and I giggle at the absurdity of the moment this is making me remember. I actually giggle.

"What's so funny?" she asks, her devious smile giving away that she knows exactly what is so funny. She cocks an eyebrow. "Remind you of something?"

I shake my head and chuckle, "Nope, not at all." I throw on a giant smirk and wink at her before her continued intense eye contact forces me to look away. Fuck, I wish I'd enjoyed the striptease more in the moment. Maybe I could have if I wasn't so uptight. Though in retrospect she was undeniably beautiful, I was too miffed at the time to appreciate the show esthetically or for any other reason. Not to mention surprised as all hell.

"Why so nervous?" purrs Johanna. "Afraid there's going to be a repeat showing?" Afraid? Hardly. Not that I have the confidence to say that out loud.

"Not really," I banter in return, "Peeta's not here to help you undress." I just leave that comment as bait and hope Johanna rises to the challenge. Knowing her, she will. She takes a predatory step forward and makes that face again. I gulp despite my effort to appear unperturbed. She smirks and takes two more steps, invading my personal space and forcing me to step back against the wall, and then plants a hand beside my head and leans in.

"Who said anything about Peeta?" she whispers huskily. Despite how I consciously set that comment up myself, I can't help but blush profusely and drop my eyes. They settle a foot lower. "Fuck, Everdeen," laughs Johanna, "you're too easy."

"Too what?" I demand indignantly.

"Too easy to embarrass," she clarifies with a grin. "So easy it's almost no fun." She pivots to lean back against the wall beside me and says nothing more for the last few moments of the ride. As we exit the elevator and begin to make our way to the dining hall, she adds, "Almost."

***o***

The strictly regimented life of District 13 forces routine on Johanna and me as individuals what with our new commitment to being model citizens and soldiers, but we've also established our own unspoken routine in our first several days in 2211. We haven't bothered attempting to sleep apart again. Johanna slips into my bed every night without discussion and we settle against each other, legs and fingers tangling under the blankets. We eat all of our meals together, which isn't much of a change except for it being more intentional ever since I came to Special Defense to collect her for dinner. The only thing we haven't done together on the regular is shooting. We're practically glued together for most of our training sessions, but Johanna went down to the Block to practice with the simulated weapons for the first two days after she received her axes. It was a relief to have her back at the range yesterday and today, firing shots at the targets and insults at anything that moved. I would never admit aloud that I'd missed that, and her, but I had. After one of the rare times we had split up, I caught her in the hummingbird room again yesterday evening when I was leaving from visiting Gale at his workstation with Beetee. This time, she offered me an axe.

"Show me what you got," she said. I didn't have much to show, as my experience with axes in the Training Center was quite minimal. Most of what I know, I know from watching her. I tried to mimic a few of her fierce swings then launched the thing at a tree maybe fifteen yards from us. My aim was true enough to hit the tree, but it lodged two feet from the trunk in a branch about twenty feet high. Johanna grinned and effortlessly clambered up to retrieve it. She's the only person I've seen who can climb trees better than me, other than Rue. But of course. Lumber district. She proceeded to give me some instruction, but I honestly don't remember much of what she said because I was too distracted by the placement of her hands when she came to stand only inches behind me. Over mine when correcting my grip. On my hips when rotating me to the perfect angle for release. She nudged my feet apart with one of her own to further correct my stance, grasped my wrist and demonstrated the proper arc of my arm and precisely when to let go. My body was still buzzing from it this morning when I woke up in her arms. Or buzzing more than usual from waking like that, to be more accurate. I really should teach her how to shoot a bow some time.

We're actually in good spirits when we head to dinner tonight, despite our fatigue and soreness from a week of intense training after so many of inactivity. My ribs feel almost like new, and Johanna can assemble her rifle without help and is turning into a half-decent shot. But what really caused our cheerful mood was seeing progress towards our ultimate goal of getting to the Capitol. Soldier York commended us on our way off the field today, and to top it off nodded at Johanna and hinted, "You just may be back on the Block sooner than you expected, Soldier Mason." Johanna turned to face me and squealed with excitement through a huge grin once we were out of view and earshot, which was admittedly weird coming from her but not unwelcome. I cracked a grin at this rare display of authentic emotion from my partner and reached up to initiate a high five. But when she went to slap my hand, some evil impulse caused me to reach up out of her range and smile down at her condescendingly. This resulted in me being tackled immediately and called a lot of really insulting names during the ensuing wrestling match, but Johanna's tone was playful enough that I felt a bubbly sort of anticipation rather than the heaviness of dread in my gut when she warned me I was going to be in trouble later. For the record, I totally kicked her ass. I guess she's not as good a wrestler when she's not naked and oiled up, either that or she wanted me to pin her down. I don't mind either reason.

We find Gale waiting to eat with me when we make it to the dining hall. Greasy Sae doles out our servings of beef stew and makes some crack about it being better than our wild dog she used to market as beef back at the Hob. "Don't remember you turning it down," Gale tosses back as he turns to find a table. I start to follow, but pause mid step when a deep moan of pleasure hits my ears. I look back and see Johanna with her face practically in her bowl, inhaling deeply.

She straightens up and blurts, "Shit, give me some taters and curds and I'd make a killer poutine!" I contort my face at her as she swipes a finger through the gravy and into her mouth.

"I have no idea what you just said," I remark blankly.

Johanna releases her finger from her lips with an exaggerated pop, then grins and shakes her head, eyes to the heavens. Her smile drops a bit along with her eyes when they return to the stew. "Fuck, I miss home," she declares under her breath.

My eyes linger on her pensive face a bit longer before I return my attention to Gale, who has just called out to Finnick and is approaching him where he's sitting at a corner of two tables. I look past him and spot Annie and Delly to his left. Finnick bought into the program here sooner than Johanna and I and is already in more advanced training with Gale, and I've seen them eating together before, so I guess they're friends now? That's strange to think about, as is the concept of Annie and Delly being friendly. I'm not used to people from my life in Twelve and my life in the Games intermingling, other than Haymitch and Peeta being part of both.

Gale settles down next to Finnick, and I hesitate to follow only because there's room for just one more person to sit comfortably before a group of Thirteen natives takes over the other end of the group of tables. There's more room on the other side of Delly, but Gale has already sat down so I'm not about to ask him to move just so I can sit with both him and Jo. That would be almost as insulting as just sitting with her instead. Oh, great. I weigh my options quickly as we come up on the group. I eat every meal with my roommate. And besides, Gale was waiting around to eat with me, so snubbing him to sit with Johanna would just deepen his feelings of neglect. I break from Johanna's side to join him. I turn my head to give her an apologetic look as she rounds the corner and I set my tray down, but she just lifts an eyebrow off her otherwise impassive face in response. She sits down next to Delly and cranes forward to listen to some story Finnick's telling about "catching crabs, but not in a bad way."

It is wonderful and enlightening to see Finnick so unguarded. He has had to don many personas to survive and get what he wants in the past, but now I feel we are seeing his true self as he sits beside his love. I've rarely seen him not holding her hand since the wedding. I'm glad the conversation is so entertaining because I need a distraction from my stew to avoid scarfing it down. I'd rather make it last, both the food and the company. Everyone is cheerier than normal now that food has started arriving from the other districts and they are finally getting to enjoy a hearty meal. I still finish sooner than I meant to and am scraping my bowl clean with my bread by the time Finnick has moved on to some ridiculous story about a sea turtle swimming off with his hat. I laugh before I realize he's standing there, not ten feet away, behind the empty corner seat next to Johanna. Watching me. I choke momentarily as the gravy-soaked bread sticks in my throat. Johanna notices this from across the tables and looks up and to her left to see what has me so perturbed. She visibly startles and her eyes widen as she loses a bit of her color.

"Peeta!" says Delly. "It's so nice to see you out... and about." Two large guards stand behind him. He holds his tray awkwardly, balanced on his fingertips since his wrists are shackled with a short chain between them.

"What's with the fancy bracelets?" asks Johanna, who apparently was able to collect herself faster than I can.

"I'm not quite trustworthy yet," he explains. "I can't even sit here without your permission." He indicates the guards with his head.

"Sure he can sit here. We're old friends," says Johanna, patting the space beside her. The guards nod and Peeta takes a seat. "Peeta and I had adjoining cells in the Capitol. We're very familiar with each other's screams."

Her words have the same effect on me as a blow to the diaphragm, inducing an even deeper ache than when she first mentioned this on the night of the wedding. Maybe it's because she referenced both of their screams this time, or maybe it's the calloused, humorous tone behind it. When she deliberately catches my eye and I register her equally calloused and humorous expression, I decide it's a bit of both and only made worse by how she seems to have said it to rattle me in particular. But it didn't rattle only me. At Johanna's words, Annie immediately did that thing where she covers her ears and exits reality. At least it's not my fault this time. Finnick shoots Johanna an angry look as his arm encircles Annie.

"What?" Johanna asks just a tad too innocently when she notices Finnick's glare. "My head doctor says I'm not supposed to censor my thoughts. It's part of my therapy."

"Like you ever censored your thoughts to begin with," I shoot across the space between us. Johanna just smirks and goes back to eating.

The life has gone out of our little party. Finnick murmurs things to Annie until she slowly removes her hands, meanwhile the other group at our circle of tables finishes up and leaves in short order. I don't really blame them. I would consider leaving too but, like most of our group, I haven't been able to do much more than pretend to eat ever since Peeta and Johanna stole the show.

"Annie," Delly brightly injects into the tension, "did you know it was Peeta who decorated your wedding cake? Back home, his family ran the bakery and he did all the icing."

Annie cautiously looks across Delly and Johanna. "Thank you, Peeta. It was beautiful."

"My pleasure, Annie," says Peeta, and I hear that old note of gentleness in his voice that I thought was gone forever. Not that it's directed at me. But still.

"If we're going to fit in that walk, we better go," Finnick tells her. He arranges both of their trays so he can carry them in one hand while holding tightly to her with the other. "Good seeing you, Peeta."

"You be nice to her, Finnick. Or I might try and take her away from you." It could be a joke, if the tone wasn't so cold. Everything it conveys is wrong. The open distrust of Finnick, the implication that Peeta has his eye on Annie, that Annie could desert Finnick, that I do not even exist.

"Oh, Peeta," says Finnick lightly. "Don't make me sorry I restarted your heart." He leads Annie away after giving me a concerned glance.

When they're gone, Delly says in a reproachful voice, "He did save your life, Peeta. More than once."

"For her." He nods in my direction. "For the rebellion. Not for me. I don't owe him anything." His offhand and impersonal reference to me stings, but his doubts hit me even harder because they so mirror my own. He's completely justified in doubting what was done for us and what was done for the rebellion when we are symbols so central to the cause. My eyes slide over to Johanna, who is watching Peeta with interest. He swallows his latest mouthful of stew and makes a little gesture with his spoon, connecting Gale and me. "So, are you two officially a couple now, or are they still dragging out the star-crossed lovers thing?"

"Still dragging," Johanna declares coldly, her eyes finally flicking over to meet mine. I don't really have time to analyze her expression because our attention is immediately recaptured by Peeta as his hands spasm into fists and then splay out in a bizarre fashion. My eyes widen as I recoil in surprise and admittedly an ounce of fear. Is it all he can do to keep those hands from my neck? I can feel the sudden tension in Gale's muscles next to me as clearly as I can see it in Johanna's, and I can't help but fear an altercation. But when Johanna lays a hand on him, it's only a nonviolent palm on his shoulder. I can't quite tell from here if she's trying to comfort him, ground him, or warn him to stay put.

"I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself," I hear Gale say from beside me.

"What's that?" asks Peeta, looking up from the hands he is now shaking out, much to my relief.

"You," Gale answers.

"You'll have to be a little more specific," says Peeta. "What about me?"

"That they've replaced you with the evil mutt version of yourself," Johanna interjects sassily as she retracts her hand. Peeta glares at her just as hard as I do but doesn't attack, much to my surprise. Johanna just looks from him to me and back, shrugs in response.

"Therapy, huh?" I ask.

"I guess I need a lot of it," she remarks pointedly and goes back to scraping out her bowl. I feel another pair of eyes on me and shift my gaze over to Peeta, who is staring me down again. I squirm and look down at the table, as that seems to be my best option right now.

"You done?" Gale asks me. I nod gratefully, rise, and start to follow him to go drop off our trays. I try to catch Johanna's eye on the way by in hopes I can motion for her to follow, but she deliberately avoids my gaze.

"Johanna!" I bark. She coolly looks up, her face an indifferent mask so much like the one I perfected in my childhood. It's infuriating. "Are you coming?"

"Soon," she answers dismissively. I shake my head in disbelief and storm off after Gale. We are almost to my compartment before he speaks again.

"I didn't expect that," he says.

"I told you he hated me," I mutter.

"It's the way th- he hates you. It's so… familiar. I used to feel like that," he admits. "When I'd watch you kissing Peeta on the screen. Only I knew I wasn't being entirely fair. He can't see that." I guess Gale has a point about Peeta and his perception of things in his current state of mind, but he does seem to be getting better and yet he still despises me, so I'm not sure that that argument holds water. And honestly, I find his linguistic misstep more interesting.

"You mean 'they' as in him and Johanna?" I reach the door of the compartment and lean against the wall beside it. Gale doesn't answer, but his expression tells me I'm correct. "I thought you said she doesn't hate me."

"That's not quite the right word," he muses. "She resents you, I guess." He shrugs. "I get what it's like to feel overshadowed."

"Johanna, overshadowed?" I scoff. "By who?" Gale gives me this look I'm mostly used to seeing from Haymitch or Johanna, a look that says I'm missing something obvious. I blush and look away.

"By Peeta." I raise my eyes cautiously, not sure I want to know if he means what it sounds like he might mean. "It's not just me. The only way _anyone_ other than Peeta can get your attention is if they're in pain. Or if they're Prim. The rest of us have to fight for the scraps whenever he's around." My indignance at this comment is slightly tempered by my relief, slowing my response time enough for him to continue, "And by you." When I narrow my eyes questioningly, he elaborates, "She's suffered a lot too, probably even more than you, but you're the one everyone talks about and sympathizes with, you're the one they're using to take down the Capitol." Johanna's words echo in my brain. I'm the one the Capitol is afraid of. But it's nothing I aimed for or can control. "So many people have suffered," Gale reiterates, "but you got all the glory."

A new and very unwelcome wave of thoughts hits me. Is Gale jealous too? Is he unsatisfied with being known as the handsome hero who saved the remnants of Twelve's population? Does he resent me for being the face of the revolution when he was the one who wanted it for years, the one who refused to abandon it when I was ready to? I think everyone close to me can agree that I don't deserve the honor, but Gale of all people resenting me is really the last thing I need right now. I can't take this from him too.

"I never asked to be the damn mockingjay, Gale," I object. "You know that, and I'm pretty sure Johanna does too."

"That just makes it worse," he counters. "You don't even want it and you're still deemed better for the job."

"That's hardly my fault," I reply. "I have no power over that."

"No, you don't, but you do over the Peeta thing."

"It's always the Peeta thing, isn't it?" I blurt, exasperated. "Aren't you two just the most kindred of spirits?"

"I understand her better than I'd like to admit," he concedes. "I get what it's like to not be able to get your undivided attention, how it can make people act out." I think of how he reacted when I blew him off to cuddle with Johanna after her flashback. Not that he knows that was why I blew him off. If he did, he'd probably have been even more annoyed.

"She gets my undivided attention here." I gesture at the compartment door. "If she really wanted it, she should have come with us."

"Come with us?" asks Gale. "I thought you were mad at her."

"I am."

He makes a strange face but only says, "Okay then," in a slightly confused tone.

I bid him goodnight and leave him outside the door. It's not that I want to be alone, but it's not his company I want after that shocking encounter with Peeta. I want only Johanna's slender but strong arms to wrap me up and hold me until I can't feel the pain, just her. I want only her high, grating, yet somehow soothing voice to whisper contradictions to Peeta's beliefs into my ear until I'm convinced she is right. I also kind of want to yell at her. Given how she was acting at dinner, that might be the only one of those wishes to come true.

A couple of days ago, Gale dropped off a few advanced military tactics books for me to study so I could have a head start if I got bumped up to the accelerated training. I sit on my bed, trying to jam their contents into my head while memories of Peeta's and Johanna's arms compete in my head and distract me. It might be a closer fight than Gale thought. After about twenty minutes, Johanna comes in and throws herself across the foot of my bed. "You missed the best part. Delly lost her temper at Peeta over how he treated you. She got very squeaky. It was like someone stabbing a mouse with a fork repeatedly. The whole dining hall was riveted."

"What'd Peeta do?" I ask, internally berating myself for having to suppress a smile at her description of the scene, both because it seems perversely insensitive and because I want to be mad at her.

"He started arguing with himself like he was two people. The guards had to take him away. On the good side," she adds, rubbing her hand over her protruding belly, "no one seemed to notice I finished his stew."

"So that's why you stayed behind?" I suggest accusingly. "For a handout?"

"No," she answers hesitantly, evidently catching the venom in my voice but not commenting on it, "I stayed because I wanted to see how Peeta would react."

"Oh, so you stayed for the entertainment? So much better."

Johanna's face changes, turns serious along with her tone when she snaps, "You know, Katniss, you're really not in any position to be commenting on my reasons for staying when you didn't stick around at all."

I deflate and drop my gaze to the book in my lap. It's true, I could have opted to stay when Gale mercifully pulled me out of the situation, but Johanna must understand why I had to get out of there. I'm not sure why she thinks I shouldn't have. It was Peeta who was attacking me, after all. But I think I'm less disappointed by her lack of support than by how she didn't understand I needed her with me after all that. In a small voice, I ask her the real question behind the ones I already asked. "Why would you rather stay with Peeta than come with me?"

"You're the one who walked away from us," she asserts with a meaningful gaze, probably too meaningful to be referring only to what happened in the dining hall, but I don't have much time to consider this because she continues, "Besides, you were with handsome. I didn't want to tag along and make things awkward."

"Okay, now I know _that's_ bullshit," I practically laugh. "You thrive on that shit. That's all you were doing at dinner, making people feel awkward." Johanna shakes her head softly, wearing that same look I saw on Gale earlier that says I'm missing the point.

"I meant awkward for me, brainless." I squint at her, but she averts her gaze to the opposite wall. "Besides," she adds, cracking her back and rolling her shoulders with a grimace before settling back down, "bread boy needed the company more." My eyes pop as the truth suddenly dawns on me. I had assumed she had stayed behind because she was mad at me for some reason I didn't understand. Because I always make everything about me.

"You wanted to make sure he was okay," I think aloud. Johanna blinks vacantly but doesn't argue. "Since when are you two allies?"

"Since you found us on the beach." I exhale forcibly in frustration and widen my eyes pointedly. Johanna shuts her eyes briefly and sighs before explaining in a more serious tone, "You weren't there, Katniss. You really have no idea what we went though."

"I didn't think you cared about him."

"Neither did I," she smirks. "He always kind of annoyed me."

"Just like me," I mutter.

"Not really." Off my confused expression, she clarifies, "For different reasons."

I furrow my brow. "Like what?" Johanna's eyes are still on me, but her faraway expression suggests she's looking through me more than at me. I wait for an answer.

"The whole star-crossed lovers thing was really cheesy and gross," she finally says in the snide tone I'm used to, "as was his love confession on national television. Way to put a girl in a difficult position." My mouth drops open a bit. Support comes from the strangest places. Everyone always tells me he did me a favor that night. And I'd assumed Johanna thought I was a willing participant in the act. She shrugs and continues, "He was kind of presumptuous. Like, he seemed to expect you to be with him just because he'd had a thing for you for ages. That's what everyone expected, and it's so fucked up. That's not how love works." My eyes must go as wide as they feel at Johanna saying something about love like she knows what she's talking about, because she quickly adds, "I mean, love never brings you anything but heartbreak anyway and it's totally not worth it, but it's like he doesn't get that the girl he likes has her own feelings and priorities. Just because you love someone doesn't mean they're going to love you back." She picks at some fuzz on my blanket and mumbles, "Love is not fair."

"Love is weird," is all I say.

Jo looks up and smiles genuinely at that, and I reply with one of my own. Hers fades slowly, and she shifts her shoulders uncomfortably again and rolls to lie back on the bed.

"You sore?"

"I'm not used to using axes every day anymore," she explains as she turns her head to face me. "The only regular exercise I got in the Capitol was vocal." The maniacal grin forming on her mouth bothers me more than the words that just came out of it. She returns her focus to the ceiling and adds with a wry smile, "I mean, unless you count electrically induced muscular contractions." Her words strike me like a slap to the face as much as a punch to the gut after her behavior at dinner.

"Why do you keep doing that?" I demand angrily.

"Doing what?" she asks blankly.

"Making light of your torture like I'm supposed to find some kind of humor in it," I say, pain breaking into my tone by the end. Johanna blinks but still keeps her eyes trained on the ceiling.

"It's better to laugh than cry."

"And you want me to join in on the laughter?" She suddenly rolls over to face me once more, and I startle when her eyes lock with mine and I glimpse the darkness in them that contrasts starkly with her flippant expression.

"What's wrong, mockingjay? Don't like hearing about what happened to the people you left behind?" There's a distinct biting undertone leaking through her familiar teasing voice.

"That wasn't my choice," I protest, my brow wrinkling. "I was dead to the world."

"As usual." She flops down on her back again. I consider arguing that the blood loss and concussion she had caused me hardly sharpened my awareness at the time, but I know that's not the point. I also don't care to escalate the argument any further. I've already had more than enough conflict for one evening.

Johanna stretches her neck to the side, and when it pops a grimace jumps onto my face. She's just popped it on the other side by the time I've scooted behind her. "Sit up," I demand, scooping my hands under her shoulders to lift them from the mattress. She glares at me over her shoulder as I fold her forward.

"Hey, get your grubby hands off-" Her one eye I can see widens as I thrust my thumbs into the meat above her shoulder blades and start digging. It's only seconds before Jo moans weakly and relaxes under my touch. A tingle runs down my spine and settles with the warmth already burgeoning between my legs.

"Pfft, like I'm the one with grubby hands," I banter to cover my sudden pleasurable discomfort. "I think you have colonies of bacteria growing under your fingernails." Johanna lifts her hands off her lap to inspect her grimy nails, but doesn't reply.

Working her tight muscles is hardly a challenge for my strong archer's hands, especially with all the mass she lost in the Capitol that hasn't quite returned in full yet. In fact, it's quite soothing for me, a rhythm I can lose myself in. And lose myself I do, burning a map of her curves and bony projections into my memory as my fingers meander over to her deltoids and down between her shoulder blades. The muscles of her mid back prove to be rock hard and much more difficult to manipulate, and when I move just an inch too low Jo arches her back away from me as her extensors reflexively go taut from the pressure. She pulls away fully and lies on her stomach, stacking her hands under her forehead. I'm disappointed until she mumbles, "Lower back is easier to do lying down."

I don't trust myself to speak, so I nod in acquiescence before I remember she can't see me. I return my hands to where I'd left off and try to continue from the side, but the movement is awkward and hard on my thumbs. I switch to grinding my knuckles into the ropes flanking her spine and lean over her to get more pressure. "You can sit on me," I hear her grunt. "It's fine." I'm a little thrown by Johanna passing up a golden opportunity to make a sexual remark, but I brush it off and take her up on the offer, swinging a leg over so I'm straddling her hips before sinking down to rest on her butt. It's a pretty comfy seat, actually, if a bit bony from her recent bout of starvation. I shake my head and put my hands back to work to clear that unpleasant thought. The physicality of this encounter is wonderfully mind-numbing.

My thumbs and fingers prove futile in dealing with Jo's mid and lower back, so I mostly stick to digging with my knuckles and the heels of my hands. When I reach her hips I move my hands back up to target her neck, resulting in a moan of appreciation. I swallow and keep at it, curling my fingers into the muscles at the sides of her neck and pressing circles into her extensors with my thumbs, enjoying the sound of her vertebrae cracking under my hands. It doesn't sound gross when I do it. The juncture of her skull and neck proves quite tender and I have to ease up a little. I'd been planning to return to her shoulders once finished her neck, but I find my hands sliding up to her scalp instead. Johanna grunts in response to my fingertips pushing little circles into the bone, but it doesn't seem to be in objection, so I don't stop.

Johanna's sounds morph into mewls when my fingers reach her temples, and I shift uncomfortably as I feel a rush joining the pool that's been building in my underwear since before I even mounted her. My reflexive shifting definitely doesn't help the situation, and I have to bite my lip to hold in any noises I may make in response to hers or to the friction I just created. I bear down and rake the stubs of my bitten off nails along her scalp, trying to calm my escalating breathing and distract myself from what's going on in my lower half. That's pretty difficult considering I can feel my heartbeat strongly between my legs. It occurs to me that maybe Johanna can feel it too given that that area is pressed right up against her, but I ignore that concern because I'm enjoying this too much.

I finally drag my hands back down her neck and, loath to give up direct contact with her skin, slip my hands under the collar of her shirt to knead the bare flesh of her shoulders. I rub hard to try to keep my focus on the sensations in my hands, and as my left thumb dips down to press above her shoulder blade, I find I'm unfortunately successful. I feel the subtle bump easily as my thumb runs across it, though its significance doesn't hit me until I start to feel more of them. My gut knots up, but nonetheless I dare to lean forward a bit so I can put a picture to what my hand is feeling.

The blood drains from my head when I catch a glimpse of the scars streaking down beyond the edge of her shirt. They are unmistakable. I've seen the same scars on Gale. I have one on my face. I haven't seen Johanna's torso in any state of undress since reuniting in Thirteen, but I remember the smooth, muscular expanse of her back I ogled in the elevator and the Training Center. This is definitely new. Not that I wouldn't be able to tell that anyway, because the scars are still raised and an angry pink-brown. They couldn't be more than a few months old.

I only realize that my hands have stilled and pulled her collar down a little to peek when she abruptly flips over and knocks my hands away, glaring at me in disbelief. "Get off," she says lowly, gruffly. When I continue to stare, mute and paralyzed, she repeats in a warning tone, "Get off me right now."

I finally force my mouth to open. "Johanna, I-"

I'm flying backwards before I even realize she has shoved me, and have to throw my arms behind me and grasp the edge of the bed so I don't bounce off on the rebound. When I look up, Johanna is standing beside the bed and staring down at me in disdain. This feels familiar. That dream. I brace myself to hear her say she hates me, though I think those words might drive me truly insane at this point. What actually happens is even worse. Johanna is speechless. The only other time I've witnessed her at a loss for words was when I'd said me being alive or dead wasn't her problem, and I'd gladly take the hurt on her face in that moment over her current expression. Johanna's eyes bounce further into the compartment as she draws in a shaky breath, then she looks back to me. She exhales resignedly and shakes her head before walking past me and out the door.

When I hear the door slide closed, my thoughts come back to me. I blink as I try to process what just happened. I'm so used to Johanna's penchant for indecency that touching or eyeing up her bare skin didn't seem to be crossing any kind of line, though I suppose staring at an abnormality on someone is always considered rude. But she hasn't stripped down in front of me since she was rescued, so maybe the rules changed without me realizing it. The thing is, I should have realized it. I noticed when she changed behind the curtain the morning of her flashback, I noticed how she'd always change into her nightclothes while I was showering, I noticed that said nightclothes always included a shirt even though she usually wore only underwear on her lower half. Johanna passed up so many opportunities to be shirtless in front of me, but in the moment I'd always chalked it up to restraint or loss of interest in shock value or simply luck. I should have realized something was wrong. I should have known. I didn't want to know.

No, I'm not brainless. I'm just selfish.

Dread starts sapping the tension from all my muscles and ramping up my breathing and heart rates as a new and even worse thought crushes me. By avoiding any acknowledgement of Johanna's newfound self-consciousness regarding her body, I blinded myself to the altered boundaries regarding it and set myself up to violate them. She may have stripped down fully in front of me multiple times, but I understand now that the area where the scars are visible has become a more private part of her body than her actual, well, private parts. So I might as well have been peeling her underwear back and staring at her naked without her permission. I haven't just violated some boundaries. I have violated her.

I bury my face in my palms in despair and am struck by the scent of Johanna's skin lingering on my hands. I nuzzle into them and inhale deeply, smelling it for what I hope is not the last time, as unshed tears begin to sting my eyes. It might be lost to me forever, just like Peeta's cinnamon and dill. I wouldn't be surprised. Johanna probably ran off to go check herself back into the hospital just so she doesn't have to live with me anymore. When I see her at training, she'll be wearing that same loathing expression, the one that now haunts me perhaps even more than the one Peeta had at dinner whenever he looked at me. They both can't stand me. Neither can I.

I can't be alone with my thoughts anymore, so I walk the few feet to Mom and Prim's compartment to pay them a visit. Prim's sitting at the table and needs only a glimpse of my face to recognize my troubled mood. She immediately strides over and wraps her arms around my middle, doesn't let go even when I can only bring myself to hug her weakly in return. She finally pulls back a bit once I relax into her embrace.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks, her eyes earnest and full of concern. I don't answer, just run my hand down her cheek before breaking away to go sit at the table. She settles down across from me as I study the columns of playing cards she's laid out.

"What's this?" I inquire, partly out of interest but mostly to change the subject.

"Solitary." She starts studying the cards and adds, "Johanna taught me. It's a game you play by yourself."

"As the name implies," I condescend jokingly. Prim raises her eyes from the table long enough to smirk in return. It's a few seconds before I muse, "She's big into card games, huh?"

Prim nods but doesn't break from the game while explaining. "She told me it rains a lot in Seven and sometimes it's so bad they have to stop working and go under these shelters out in the forests until it lets up, and there's not much to do there but play cards. And so everyone knows all these games and it's a big social thing there, people get together and drink and gamble, or they'll just play with their families." She shrugs, still focusing intently on the cards she's arranging and flipping. "So I stole us a deck from the break room in the hospital."

I smile, entertained as much as shocked by my supposedly innocent little sister speaking so casually and openly about thieving. I can't imagine stealing is frowned upon any less in Thirteen than it was in Twelve, so I'm admittedly a little impressed at her guts. As impressed as you can be by someone you basically raised breaking the law, that is. I suppose I wasn't the best example, what with all my poaching and black market activity.

"When did you become such a rebel?" I tease, kicking her feet under the table.

"Must be genetic," she deadpans without looking up. I'm torn between amusement at her sass and angst at who it reminds me of.

"You've been hanging out with Jo too much," I remark. I really should stop talking about Johanna. I came over here to distract myself from thoughts of her in particular.

"You're the one who lives with her."

I would respond to that, but I'm startled by a thud coming from the sleeping nook. Buttercup appears and I calm when I realize the noise was just him jumping off a bed. He slinks towards us and hisses at me on sight. I make a face at him and Prim looks up in time to see it.

"Maybe he'd like you more if you were nicer to him," she admonishes me as the big ugly tomcat jumps up onto her lap.

"I brought him to you, didn't I?" I retort. Buttercup meows obnoxiously and sits up to place his front paws on the table. We glare at each other. "I could have left the little jerk in Twelve." As if on cue, he reaches out and swipes at the columns of cards, knocking them into disarray and even sending a few to the floor. I snort and shake my head at his antics.

Prim just sighs and says, "Well I _was_ going to offer to show you how to play Solitary."

"It's okay," I reply. "Thanks, though."

"We could play something else," she suggests brightly. "There's lots of games for two people or more. Not all of them involve slapping, either."

"Slapping someone wouldn't be the worst thing right now," I mutter. Prim raises her eyebrows, and I drop my eyes to my suddenly fidgety hands. "I, uh… I saw Peeta today."

"Where?" she asks. "Did you go up to visit him or did you see him at a meal?" That's right, Prim's hospital staff, so she would know how he's progressing.

"At dinner." I look up and notice Prim gauging my expression.

"It didn't go so well?" I shake my head. "Is that why you're upset?" That's part of it. Realizing Peeta still despises me even now that he's getting better was hardly pleasant. His words and opinions don't hold as much weight as they used to because I've had to distance myself from him emotionally to hold onto any last shred of my own sanity, but they still hurt. Johanna's behavior at dinner was more troublesome because she's a little more rational and also because we're closer at the moment. Or we were until she caught me staring at her scars and flipped out.

Shit, I was supposed to not be thinking about this stuff. But maybe if it won't leave my mind, it's better to share. Strategically. Prim's already acknowledged that she doesn't know what happened to Johanna in the Capitol, and I don't want to burden Prim with this knowledge or betray Johanna's trust any more than I seemingly have already. Lamenting that Peeta's finally seeing me for who I really am hardly seems appropriate either.

"I've just been finding out a lot of things I didn't know before," I say hesitantly. "And I don't want to know most of them."

"Most of them?" Prim prods softly. I consider this for a moment. Have there actually been any pleasant surprises lately?

"Why didn't anyone tell me she kissed me?" The words are out of my mouth before I even realize I was thinking them, and I slap a hand over my mouth much too late. To Prim's credit, she just goes on stroking the cat like this is nothing to be fazed by, though she does furrow her brow slightly in confusion.

"Johanna?" she asks. I nod, my eyes still wide in shock at my outburst. "I thought you knew. And why bring it up, anyway? It was just on the cheek, like she was trying to tell you she wasn't trying to hurt you. That's part of how I could tell what she was doing."

I snort and mutter, "I guess that explains why everyone thinks I'm such an idiot for thinking she was trying to kill me."

"You had a concussion," she points out. "I don't think anyone blames you for not understanding her intentions."

"I rarely understand her intentions even on a good day," I admit just as the door slides open. I look over my shoulder and see Mom entering the compartment. She smiles and nods, and I respond in kind.

"Good to see you," she greets me. "I was just about to come by. How are things next door?"

"Fine," I lie.

"Oh, so you two haven't destroyed the compartment since I last checked in?" she teases lightly.

"Mom," I groan with a roll of my eyes while Prim just giggles. That's the last mention of Johanna during the visit, thankfully. A distraction is best if I can't safely spill my guts. I'd honestly love to talk to someone about everything that's plaguing my mind, but even if I felt comfortable sharing everything with Prim, I don't trust my mother with it. I really should – she's a healer and has incredible mental fortitude when it comes to patching up victims of lashings, if nothing else. She's hardly squeamish. But I guess I'm still holding a bit of a grudge. And slipping up and mentioning the kiss in the Quell to Prim didn't turn out to be a big deal, but I really don't want to talk to my mother about any feelings or kisses involving Johanna. Or Peeta for that matter, especially after today.

I return home around ten and am not surprised to find the compartment empty. I'm not sure whether I'm more disappointed to not see Johanna or relieved to be spared the inevitable confrontation. When I emerge from the shower a short time later, I actually jump when I come around the corner to see the girl sitting on her bed engrossed in one of the books I'd left on mine. I guess that means she still lives here, which would be a relief if she would say something to me or even acknowledge my presence. I feel unworthy of initiating a conversation with her after what happened, so I grab another book instead and try to stuff military information into my very preoccupied brain.

I give up a few minutes before 10:30 and curl up on my side. The absence of Johanna's touch is devastating. I'm cold and on edge and there's this cramp in my chest that refuses to subside. Great, we haven't even been sleeping together for a week and I'm already dependent on it; I'm suffering withdrawal from my drug of choice. If this is anything like morphling withdrawal, I can understand why Johanna was such a bitch that one night.

The lights go down and I burrow further under my covers with a sigh, curling up tighter to preserve my own body heat now that no one's sharing theirs with me. I hear the expected sounds of Johanna dropping her book on the floor and shifting on her bed, quickly followed by the unexpected sound of her feet padding across the floor. It's only a few steps between our beds, so I don't even have time to process what the sound means before I feel my covers being lifted and the bed dipping behind me. I shiver with anticipation as Johanna wiggles in and readjusts the covers over us. When she molds her body around mine, the relief is so overwhelming I almost cry aloud. A few silent tears sneak out as it is.

Despite feeling unworthy and like I'm treading on thin ice, I am overcome with the need to say something. A moment ago I felt like everything would be okay again if only she would hold me, and I do feel comforted, but not absolved of my guilt or her anger. As much as I don't want a confrontation, I'm craving some sort of resolution. And if I have to get yelled at to get it, so be it. I deserve it anyway.

"I'm sorry," I whisper into the darkness.

"Don't." The soft command makes my gut twist painfully, but I can't help myself.

"I wasn't trying to…" Okay, so I was trying to look once I realized there was something to look at, but I didn't plan to discover those scars. "I was surprised."

Johanna releases an exasperated groan as I feel her right hand move to my hip to pull herself forward a bit. "You shouldn't be," she hisses directly in my ear. "Did you really think all they did was shock me? I even told you, it was _one_ of the things they did to me." I swallow hard. No, I didn't think that was all they did. I remember what she looked like when we locked eyes in the hospital right after the rescue mission. I remember it far better than I'd ever want to. I just didn't consider what specifically they had done to her. It was far too painful to think about. I shake my head and take in a breath to reply, but she cuts me off. "I don't want to talk about it. There's a reason I left." I nod. Johanna says nothing more for the moment but releases my hip and begins to trace her fingers up and down my forearm. My eyes squeeze shut in relief at the casual affectionate contact I'd worried I'd lost forever. Finally she admits, "I know you weren't trying to embarrass me or remind me of anything. I overreacted."

"Embarrass you?" I hadn't been planning to prod further, but this sentiment seems so out of place that I comment on it without thinking. I mull it over for a moment. I mean, sure, the sight wasn't exactly aesthetically pleasing, but I didn't think that was why she got so upset. I hesitate a second before assuring her, "You're still beautiful, Johanna."

"Of course I am," she snorts, perhaps a little too confidently. "That's not what I meant."

I decide that if she wants to explain what she meant, she'll elaborate on her own. She doesn't. Without any words to distract me, the image I've recalled now consumes my consciousness completely and hauntingly. Anger suddenly bubbles up in my gut and threatens to choke me. It's the same righteous anger I recognize from every reaping day, from seeing the ruins of my town, from when I vowed to kill Snow after Peeta attacked me. I tremble with rage at the thought of what that bastard did to her. My mind flashes back to the sight of Gale on my table, his back an unholy mess, the stench of blood permeating the air, his whimpers of pain battering my eardrums and my heart. I shake my head sharply to snap myself back to the present, then find Johanna's hands and grip them tightly. Comforting her is all I can do to help. There's nothing I can do to change the past. But there is something I can do in the future. Vengeance. I crave it now more than ever.

"Jo?" She hums a sound of acknowledgement. "I'm going to kill him." I know I don't have to specify who I mean. We both know who the real enemy is.

"Not if I get to him first," she declares.

I flip over, search her eyes, and slide my hand over her side to caress her back, a gesture that now holds much more meaning. She tenses slightly because she no doubt understands this as well, but she doesn't protest or pull away. I consider what she just said. Gale was right about suffering and glory. While Johanna's district was not destroyed like mine, she holds an edge on me in personal suffering when it comes to the rights to Snow's life, so I can hardly be selfish about this. If it was actually about glory rather than personal satisfaction, I'd give her the honor no question. Her terms are more than reasonable. And I do love a good competition, especially with her.

"Deal."

* * *

><p>To give credit where it's due, I'd like to mention that a post on the jonissheadcanons Tumblr gave me the idea to use a massage where someone's getting sexually frustrated as a vehicle to reveal the scars I'd been hinting at since chapter 2. I'd link to it but I'm bad at technology and am not even sure that's allowed. What I ended up writing was quite different, but it gave me the idea so I thought I'd mention it. Thanks also to BDewitt (also known on the internets as District 7 Profanity) for picking my brain and giving me inspiration for deepening a lot of the relationships between various characters.<p>

The "wanna play" thing is a line that was cut from Catching Fire, for anyone who doesn't know. If you've watched all of the special features, you may have already seen/heard the shot of Jena saying that.

UPDATE: I added a couple of things to the lead-up to the dining hall scene. A few sentences and nothing major, just a clarification and a short exchange I cut out in my original final edit, but I figured I should alert the readers to the change because this chapter has been up for almost 24 hours.


	6. War

A/N: Thanks for your patience. Those of you who follow me on tumblr may know that I've been dealing with a concussion and that that was impeding my progress on this chapter. Honestly, getting this polished and ready for publication was more than I should have been doing and it hasn't been helping my recovery, but it was mostly done and I wanted it off my plate. The next update will probably be a long ways away, sometime in the new year. I have chapter 7 outlined and I may write little bits as I feel inspired, but my editing process is very demanding in terms of brainpower so I probably won't work on it aggressively until I'm feeling a lot better. Thanks in advance for your patience and understanding. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to you all - your comments help keep my mood up even when things get rough, and for that, I am grateful.

Trigger warnings for violence, non-graphic descriptions of torture, and PTSD.

* * *

><p>A light breeze blowing over my neck drags me out of my slumber, and my eyes flutter open to the unfamiliar view of Johanna's empty bed. I drop my gaze to the pressure on my chin and confirm that Johanna's forehead is pressed against it and the puffs of air are coming from her mouth. I pull back just a touch from her head that's resting on my upper arm so I can get a better view of her face in the dim light. Johanna's truly adorable when she's asleep. Unmasked, she looks just like any other girl, only exceptionally beautiful. Just like any other girl, until her brow furrows and it occurs to me that it was the increase in her frequency and depth of breathing that woke me up. I register her hand clutching the material over my shoulder blade just as the first whimper bursts out of her throat.<p>

"Shhh," I whisper, running the hand of my pinned arm over her scalp and the other along her back. Her face twists in pain, though whether it's of the physical or psychological variety within the dream, I can't tell. "Jo, you're okay," I continue softly. "You're okay." A shudder runs through her, but the telltale noises stop. I graze my left hand down her arm and slowly work the tension out of her hand until her fist loosens enough to extricate it, then I ease myself onto my back so she is resting partially on top of me. Jo stirs sleepily and nuzzles into my collarbone before relaxing again.

I examine the body lying on top of mine and feel a sudden pang of longing. I haven't held Johanna like this since the night of her flashback. It's not that I didn't want to, but she always took the lead and rolled me over to face the wall before spooning me from behind. And I liked that too and didn't want to risk upsetting her and making her stop altogether, so I cooperated. But being allowed to hold her in her vulnerable state is a privilege I have missed, though I'm not quite sure why I lost it. Maybe I'd never earned it to begin with, and she'd just turned to me at the time because I was the nearest available warm body. That fear has never quite left me because her behavior since that night hasn't done much to contradict it.

I decide to enjoy it while it lasts, and rake my nails through the down on her scalp, tuck my chin and rest my lips against her forehead. Johanna shifts again and cups her hand around my breast. I roll my eyes emphatically out of equal parts frustrated arousal and prudish annoyance, but say nothing and don't attempt to move her. My eyes flick back down to the hand in question and narrow when they detect a new detail as they adjust to the dim light. The grunge caked under her fingernails is gone. A wave of guilt rolls over me as I recall one more way I made her self-conscious last night, obviously so if she chose to scrub under her nails while off sulking after my discovery. I move both hands to her back to support her gently when I feel and hear her breathing slow and deepen as she is lulled back into a deeper sleep.

It's maybe twenty minutes later when the lights turn up and Johanna's eyes reflexively squeeze tighter shut to block it out, but this wakes her and she releases an obnoxiously loud yawn. Her eyes blink open and settle on my face, and a soft smile forms on her mouth for a moment before confusion overtakes her expression when she notices our positioning.

"Morning, sleepyhead," I tease. I can't resist the chance to get back at her for all the times she's embarrassed me, so I direct my gaze pointedly at her hand with a big smirk. Her eyes flick down to my chest and she abruptly pulls the hand down to my lower ribcage, a faint blush coloring her pale cheeks. My smirk grows yet wider, but she doesn't see it because she doesn't look up before rolling off of me onto her back and squirming to release herself from the hold I still have on her with my right arm. My mouth drops out of disappointment but also insult. I guess I still don't have that privilege.

"Morning, Everdeen," she finally grunts, eyes on the ceiling.

The sudden awkward tension is grating on me, so I turn onto my side and force myself to grin as I prod, "What, Mason? You only grope people in your sleep? What fun is that?" Oh, wow. That's probably the most overtly sexual thing I've ever said.

Seemingly unruffled, Johanna just rubs her eyes and asks, "You have a good night?" This is wrong. The Jo I know would turn to face me and say something even more scandalous to outdo me and make sure I was blushing even harder than she was. She might even go so far as to agree it's no fun and grope me again. Maybe I'm overreacting, but after ignoring the warning signs of her diminished body confidence, I'm extra vigilant for small changes in her behavior. The irony doesn't escape me; one would expect her sexual comments and flirting to make me uncomfortable, not a lack thereof.

I don't even bother trying to hide my suddenly sour mood when I scoff and mutter, "Hardly," dropping down onto my back. Johanna chuckles bitterly next to me, and I turn my head so I can see her again. The mask I'd loved seeing her without earlier this morning is back up in full force. Great. What the hell did I do this time?

"Mine could have been better too," Johanna contributes, though there doesn't seem to be any venom behind the statement. The vacant sorrow in her eyes troubles me, so I swallow back my spite.

I consciously soften my expression and gently ask, "You go and see Finnick?"

"Peeta." She quickly glances over to catch my expression before I have time to hide my surprise. I blink and shake my head, not really sure what to say.

"So, what, are you guys actually friends now?" I query, surprised at the edge of bitterness in my mostly perplexed tone. I hope Johanna doesn't notice it. If she does, she doesn't comment on it.

"No," she answers quietly. "But he understands." Her words from last night resound in my head. I have no idea what they went through. I guess they only have each other to lean on in that sense. Annie was there, but who knows what she saw or heard? In any case, she wasn't part of the torture. Peeta might actually be Johanna's closest and most useful ally now. That explains why she was being so nice to him last night. By her standards, anyway.

Curiosity gets the better of me and I ask, "Have you visited him before?"

"No," she replies. But then she fully turns her head to me and a hard expression comes over her face. "But then again, _we_ were never that close," she adds pointedly.

They were never that close? As opposed to who? Her glare quickly answers that question for me. She thinks I abandoned Peeta. Clearly she doesn't know about all the times I made the trek through the hospital to his room and peeked in through the one-way mirror. But neither does Peeta, so if Johanna or anyone else asked, he'd say I'd never visited. I guess I set myself up for this misunderstanding, but I could never let him see me. The way he looked at me when he attacked me was horrifying, and the thought of seeing it again was too painful to bear. My eyes begin to sting and blur. I blink away the sign of weakness and ask with as little emotion as possible, "Why are you mad at me for how I treated him?"

"Feels familiar," she answers coldly. I'm puzzled, and this must show because she rolls her eyes and explains, "You never came to visit me either. And I didn't even hate you like he does."

"I thought you did," I counter.

"I kind of do," she concedes sassily. Her sudden levity disappears just as quickly when she continues, "But I still would have liked to see you. See how you were. Know you were at least pretending to be concerned about how I was." That strikes a nerve. Partly because it's true that I didn't think much about her condition before I was thrown into a hospital room with her, and partly because her attitude towards it isn't entirely fair.

"Well it's not like I was in any state to visit anyone," I bite back, propping myself up on my forearm to glare down at her. "Peeta put me in the hospital that same night and then I went to Two almost right away after I was discharged. And who was the first person I saw when I got back? You. And as I recall, you were just thrilled to see me."

"Like you ever go where you're told to. You wouldn't have even had to leave the hospital to come say hello. Or wave hello," she adds with a distasteful smirk. "And you didn't even bother."

I narrow my eyes and retort, "You know what, Mason? I am _so_ sorry you weren't the first thing on my mind after one of my closest friends tried to murder me. I'm sorry I didn't come check up on you after you saved my life." Despite my sarcastic tone, I mean that second one. "It's not like I didn't give a shit about how you were, but I was a little preoccupied with what happened to Peeta."

"Of course you were," she says dismissively, turning her face to the ceiling again. A frustrated groan barrels out of my throat. This woman will be the death of me, I swear to god.

"Okay," I snap, sitting up fully, "so first you're mad I don't care about him enough, and now you're mad I care about him too much?" Johanna doesn't answer, and I just throw my hands in the air. "You're impossible!" I shout as I clamber over her. I steady myself on the edge of the bed and drop to the floor, immediately yanking open the dresser with much more force than necessary and digging out my clothes.

As I get dressed, I try to come up with a better response. I want to defend my actions regarding Peeta, but if I tell her I went to go observe him, I'd be proving her right in her opposite argument. I did get up to go visit someone, it just wasn't her. Johanna wasn't strapped down to a bed in a room with a one-way mirror. If I came to see her, she'd know it. I'd rather her think of me as selfish or absent-minded than as someone who doesn't care about her, so I say nothing. Things were more than a little complex at the time, and I don't want her to mistake her low priority for complete indifference.

I stomp down to the main room and stick my arm in the tattooing machine. Once I feel the stamp release, I give my schedule a quick scan as I start for the door. I halt abruptly when my eyes settle on 12:30 - Advanced Tactics, followed by 13:30 – S.S.C., and my mood suddenly brightens.

"Jo?" I call over to my bed. Johanna just grunts, so I return to the bedside and shake her shoulder. "Johanna, get up. You're gonna want to see this."

Johanna groans and opens her eyes. "See what?" I lean across her and drop my forearm into her line of sight. She squints and grasps it at the wrist and elbow, and then her mouth and eyes pop open. "No fucking way!" she grins. "York wasn't kidding!"

"I thought we'd be waiting longer," I admit.

"Me too." Johanna rolls out of bed and sweeps me aside to make her way to the machine. I follow and peek over her shoulder as she pulls her arm out. "Same," she tells me.

"Not quite," I reply, reaching around her to compare our schedules side by side. "You're back on the shooting range at 15:30. I'm in Command."

"Right," she chuckles bitterly, turning her face to mine that's only inches away. "I'm sure the mockingjay has more important things to do than train for the invasion."

My face contorts in displeasure. I honestly would much rather be shooting than attending one of the meetings in Command that usually bore me to tears. Not that I really need the practice. "Or maybe you're just a lousy shot," I retort sharply.

Johanna scoffs and heads back to the sleeping nook. "You don't need to be a good shot, Everdeen," she calls over her shoulder. "You just need to look pretty for the cameras."

I quietly fume as she bends over to pull her training clothes out of the dresser. She doesn't get it at all. I'd think she would understand, what with all the time we've been spending together lately, but she doesn't. I notice where my eyes have landed and silently curse myself. I can't even get mad at this girl without checking her out.

"Johanna," I growl, stalking up behind her, "do you really think that's who I am, who I want to be? I don't want to be admired for how I look. Fuck, I don't even want to be the mockingjay! It should have been you. Or Gale, even."

"Yes," she snarls as she straightens up and swivels to face me. "It should have been me." Pain flickers in her angry eyes as she adds with an acerbic smirk, "But instead, I was in the Capitol, because I sacrificed my ass so they could pull you out and parade _you_ around as the 'noble savior of Panem.'" She uses her free hand to accentuate that last bit with air quotes, and I feel my own anger rising up in my gut to meet hers. "And you don't even want to do it!" she finishes wearily. "You don't give a damn about the revolution."

"What the hell are you talking about, Johanna?" I demand, taking a threatening step closer. "Of course I care about the revolution. I want Snow dead as much as anybody."

"Bullshit, Katniss!" she yells in my face. "You don't give two fucks! We all saw you smiling and waving with that 'Panem today, Panem tomorrow, Panem forever' bullshit! Hardly someone who cares about the revolution at all, let alone enough to be its figurehead."

"You know, not everyone can go around spouting off anti-government bullshit whenever they want, cussing out the president like who the fuck cares," I parry. "Not everybody has that luxury!" I narrow my eyes and spit out, "There's a reason Finnick was still fucking every Capitol person who would pay for him. Pardon us for playing the game because we still have people to protect." The sudden pain in Johanna's eyes is overshadowed by the spike of fury evident in her sharp intake of breath and the color and contortions of her face. She closes what little gap still remains between us.

"Yeah, but that's all you care about, that's the problem! Protecting your loved ones at the expense of everyone else, at the expense of your own morals. You're a coward." Her eyes take on a deadly focus and she sneers, "Prim told me you were getting ready to run right after the Victory Tour. Some noble hero you are!" She jabs two fingers into the flesh above my heart and growls, "You're not selfless like they all think." With that, she turns and heads for the bathroom. I snort out a cynical laugh as I follow in her wake.

"Like you're one to talk about morals!" I retaliate with venom, grabbing Johanna's shoulder and spinning her to face me just before she reaches the bathroom door. "My apologies that the people found me more inspiring, but killing a bunch of kids is hardly going to instigate a rebellion. That's the point of the Games, and you went along with it." That earns me a vicious slap to the face, so quick a strike I have no chance to brace myself.

"Fuck you, you entitled, arrogant little brat!" she seethes. "What do you know about anything? You're just a stupid child."

I blink back tears from the sting of her hand and words and throw on my best impassive face. "I thought you said I'm not a kid," I point out, barely reining in my voice enough to keep it from cracking at the end.

I think I can make out a shadow of regret in Johanna's expression, but maybe I'm imagining it because all she does is scoff, "You survived your Games, so you're an adult in some sense, sure. But how can you truly grow up when you have everything handed to you like you have?"

"Handed to me?" I absorb this ridiculous accusation and shake my head in disbelief. "No, you know what, Johanna? You're the one who doesn't know anything. You think you do, but you don't. You know nothing about my life, only what the cameras showed you." She raises a challenging eyebrow. "I told you, I lost my childhood long before I was reaped."

I take a step closer, forcing her to step back against the wall. "My father died when I was eleven, and my mother might as well have too. She was useless for a few years, except worse, because she was another mouth to feed. If we could even make her eat at all. I wasn't old enough to sign up for tesserae, and we had no income. We almost starved, so many times. I thought we were all going to die!" I suck in a deep breath through gritted teeth and continue, "In the spring, I remembered how my father had taught me how to hunt…" I squeeze my eyes shut at the painful memories of my father and of how I remembered about the hunting, how I regained hope. The boy with the bread.

I take a few seconds to collect myself, surprised but impressed that Johanna doesn't interrupt. I open my eyes to see her intrigued ones squinting into mine. She blinks and nods for me to continue.

"I braved the woods and did my best," I explain, "gathered fruit and katniss roots and took down the animals I could manage to. If the wrong Peacekeeper had seen me, I could have been flogged, killed, anything. And then Prim would have died for sure." I swallow the emotion bubbling up at the thought. "Eventually I turned twelve, got the tesserae, and met Gale, and that all helped, but supporting my family was still on my back, always has been." I take in a shaky breath and lean in a bit closer. "Did Prim tell you all that?" I sneer.

Johanna finally speaks. All she says is, "No. Just that you took good care of her."

I nod scornfully. "I've had to be an adult for even longer than you, I'll bet. Or were you the head of your household at fifteen?" Johanna drops her eyes and doesn't answer. I grab her by the collar of her shirt and pin her up against the wall, snapping her gaze back up. My eyes bore into hers and I spit, "So don't you dare call me a child!"

Johanna's expression briefly morphs into one I recognize, the same look she got when I shoved and cussed her out last week. She pulls her mask back up almost immediately, but not before I catch the variant of that look. That turned on look, or seductive look, or whatever it is. But unfortunately, the brief glimpse of it causes the same reaction in me, and I suddenly have to suppress the urge to sandwich her between my body and the wall and kiss her violently. This only makes me angrier. I pull Johanna towards me and slam her against the wall one more time. "Fuck you!" are my parting words to her as I release her and turn to storm out of the compartment.

I only start to feel the throbbing in my cheek and my temples by the time I'm halfway to the dining hall and my adrenaline has started to abate. I ignore everyone and everything in my path in favor of the pains in my face and my chest, where Johanna's spiteful barbs seem to have punctured me deep within. My stomach joins the cacophony of aches when it twists at the memory of the hurt in her face as the fight escalated to the point where she slapped me, but the slapping part itself allows me the indignance to shrug off any guilt. At least for now.

When I exit the food line and see my mother and sister already seated, it finally occurs to me that I'd been divulging our intimate family drama within earshot of their compartment. If they are already here, they probably didn't hear that part, but I can't be sure because I also didn't hear them leave. I'm suddenly afraid to sit with them. Gale hasn't arrived yet. Finnick and Annie have, but Johanna is going to sit with them so they are not an option. My eyes search farther than my usual scope and land on my former escort and mentor sitting across the room with Beetee. The least intimidating option available, I make my way towards them.

I step around Beetee's empty wheelchair and ease myself down beside him as unobtrusively as possible. Despite my concerted effort not to draw attention to myself, Haymitch openly stares at my face once his eyes float over to acknowledge my presence. I shrivel under his gaze, finally aware enough of my surroundings to feel self-conscious. This is like when everyone I passed in the hallways stared at the bruises from Peeta's fingers on my neck. I know for sure now that Johanna left some kind of mark on me.

"What the hell happened to you?" I roll my eyes at his questioning face, shake my head. He doesn't drop the expression, and I quickly become aware of Effie peering at me in concern as well. Beetee, who is sitting to my left and has the best view, at least has the decency to pretend to be focused on his food.

My eyes bounce back to Haymitch and I see him staring at something beyond me, so I instinctively glance over my shoulder. Johanna is finally dressed and stalking towards the food line, wearing a troubled but faraway frown. She seems to sense our gaze and looks our way, but when her eyes settle on me she quickly averts them. I turn back to Haymitch in time to see a look dawning on his face. "Well, shit." I automatically glance at Effie, half-expecting her to jump into a lecture over his language, but she seems completely unruffled by it and is still focused on me. I scowl.

"Where are your manners, Miss Trinket?" I chirp in an exaggerated Capitol accent. "Didn't anyone ever teach you it's rude to stare?"

"Leave her out of this." Haymitch picks up his tray and rounds the corner. On his way by me, he gives my shirt a tug and says, "Let's you and me have a talk." Last time he said that, he dropped a bomb on me. I'm not sure I can withstand another, but nonetheless I slide down to the next corner seat so I'm beside him.

I hesitantly look up to see Haymitch cocking an eyebrow. "Trouble in paradise?" he asks just before taking a bite of crunchy toast slathered in red jam.

"Paradise?" I scoff.

"This whole living arrangement thing was your idea, sweetheart," he argues around the mouthful of gooey bread. He swallows it and adds, "You must have had some reason for suggesting it."

"I owe Johanna."

"Right, of course you do," he responds blandly. "Anything else?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" I can feel a blush infiltrating my cheeks, but do my best to keep a straight face as Haymitch chuckles.

"I know you never listen to a thing anyone tells you, but I'm going to give you a very important piece of advice all the same." He leans in just as I finish rolling my eyes and places a firm hand on my forearm to convey his seriousness. "Johanna is not one to be toyed with," he warns me. "She's the way she is for a reason. Like all of us."

"She's the one who does all the toying," I object. "She's always trying to get under my skin, you know that. It's not like I'm picking fights." I drop my face into my hands and wince at the pressure on my tender cheekbone. "I don't know what happened, Haymitch," I lament into my palms. "I was frustrated and I let her push me and I pushed back and it all went to hell in an instant."

"That's not what I meant." I lift my face a bit and scrunch it up at him in a silent question. "Johanna has a lot of what her head doctor would call 'abandonment issues.' She's lost everyone she's ever cared about, as she told you. But instead of chasing new connections, she holds people at a distance because she's afraid anyone she lets in will leave her or get taken away. You've probably noticed this." I nod. I have assumed for quite some time that that was at least part of the reason for her antisocial behavior, though I'm happy to hear I wasn't imagining it. Haymitch grasps my arm again, recapturing my full attention. "So it's no wonder you scare her," he reasons earnestly. My jaw and stomach drop.

"I scare Johanna Mason?" I ask dramatically, hoping to deflect the conversation from where I fear it is headed. I lean in and stage whisper, "Have you found a secret stash of alcohol somewhere?" Haymitch doesn't take the bait.

"Johanna doesn't hedge her bets, Katniss. She's passionate and intense, and when she does grab hold of something, she can't be pried off." He lifts a meaningful eyebrow. "Or someone." My cheeks heat up to some shade of crimson in a mixture of indignance at his assumptions and embarrassment at their accuracy, at least from my end of things. He stares into my wide eyes and cautions, "If you know what's good for you, don't start anything with her you're not planning to finish."

I turn my attention to my plate and stab at my scrambled eggs. Haymitch lets me eat in silence for a few moments, but then slaps me every bit as hard as Johanna, only verbally. "I know it must be nice to have a distraction from the boy," he says, "but if you're trying to escape your relationship drama, you've really gone to the wrong place." I swivel on my rear to face him fully and brandish my fork mere inches from his face.

"Fuck you, Haymitch!" I snarl.

He just laughs and swats my hand away, takes a swig of orange juice and says, "I think we can both agree we're not going to tell him."

"There's nothing to tell," I reply irritably, glowering down at my tray. Haymitch just continues on unfazed.

"I know things haven't exactly gone well the last few times you've seen him, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't go into a jealous rage if he saw you with someone else."

"Haymitch." I lean towards him and annunciate each word. "Peeta does not want to be with me." I deflate and mutter, "He hates me."

"Hate and love aren't so different, you know. No one in their right mind could say he's 'over you.' You're still all he thinks about." I'm pummeled by guilt for the second time this morning. Haymitch is right; Peeta does still think of me all the time. He was always more invested in me than I was in him, but I think about him even less now. I like to think it's healthy for me to get some space from the situation, but I know it's not really fair to him. It was never fair.

"Have you thought about what could happen if he does recover and you are already in this… situation?" Haymitch asks, pulling me from my thoughts. "I mean, you already basically left him to rot."

"That's not fair, and you know it," I snap.

"Have you considered his feelings at all in this matter?" he inquires, still frustratingly calm and pious.

"What, are you saying I owe him something? That I should get back with him just because it's expected?" Johanna's sentiments are spilling out of me now. But I think that's something she was actually right about, so I don't mind. "Why should I stay with a boy I never loved when the Capitol can't force me to anymore? If I have a chance to get off this train, I'm going to take it. I want my life back, Haymitch. _My_ life." I pause for a breath and am taken aback by my mentor's expression. He looks impressed, maybe even… proud? I steel my resolve all the same and declare, "So for once, I'm going to take what I want." Haymitch still seems pleased, yet cocks a concerned eyebrow.

"Just make sure you know what you want," he advises me. "Too many hearts at stake. The last thing the rebellion needs is a civil war within itself. Johanna especially is not someone you want to hurt." He leans in closer and predicts ominously, "You destroy her, and she'll take you down with her."

If she burns, I burn with her. No pressure or anything. I squirm and push fried potatoes around my plate for a moment while I summon the courage to ask, "You really think she likes me like that?" I look up cautiously. I was trying not to sound too hopeful, but I fear my vulnerability is written on my face.

"Of course she does," he assures me with a look that says not to be stupid. "You got under her skin enough to hurt her feelings." He touches my cheek, and I recoil slightly with a wince. "Not to mention the striptease thing. Rest assured, that wasn't for me."

"I think I might have fucked it all up," I admit. It's not the welt and the fight it came from that really bothers me. That at least shows some feeling on her part. It's her brushing off my attempt to flirt this morning, which admittedly contributed to my irritability that led to the fight. I fear I lost something irretrievable when I pulled down her collar last night. Her demeanor was still playful as recently as the wrestling match before Reflection, so I don't know what else I could have done to cause that shift in her behavior.

"No," Haymitch disagrees, fortunately interrupting yet another one of my downward spirals of overthinking. He smirks and clarifies, "The two of you… that's fucked up from the start." His eyes dance teasingly, and a small smile sneaks onto my face against my will.

"Thanks for the advice, Haymitch," I snort with a mock glare. He raises his glass.

"Anytime, sweetheart."

***o***

"Mason, report your position," orders the robotic voice of our squadron leader.

"Ten feet northwest of back door of target," her voice crackles in my earpiece. "On west wall of alley, shielded on north by dumpster. Hinges are on south side of door, should have clear view of any fleeing occupants. In position for apprehension if necessary." Damn, Johanna's military-speak is kind of sexy. I smile to myself and peek my head slightly through the dirty shards that are left of the window to catch a glimpse of her on the street below me. All I can really see is her helmet and that she is crouched with her gun already trained intently on the door. I wish I could see the focus in her eyes.

"Soldier Everdeen, do you copy?"

"What?" I respond. Johanna starts to tip her head up to look at me, and I immediately pull myself completely back into the apartment. Shit. I need to get it together, treat this just like a real battle, like they said. In the Capitol, the last thing on my mind will be Johanna's sex appeal. I hope. If I even get there, which would be much more likely if I would fucking pay attention. "Yes, I copy."

"Everdeen, report your position," he says for what I assume is the second time.

"Second story of opposite block of apartments. Twelve feet northwest of back door of target, ten feet above street level. Covering Mason's south and east flanks," I ramble. "Sir!" I tack on at the end for good measure.

"Stand by for East team final preparations." And so we lie in wait. For perhaps the first time today, I have a chance to stop and think. Maybe this mission would feel just as fast-paced as our previous ones if we were on the other side of the building with the rest of our squad of eight, but for now all I have to do is watch out for Peacekeepers in the back alley and on nearby rooftops. My gaze drops back down to my partner for a moment, though my mind is actually elsewhere for once.

My conversation with Haymitch is still eating at me. His accusations of my poor treatment of Peeta, sure, but more so what I'd said in response. Did I really never love him? Certainly never in the way I was told I'd one day love a boy. I loved how he admired and comforted me. I love him as a person. But the churning in my gut, the heat under my skin, the inappropriately-timed daydreams, those are only provoked by the victor crouching in the alley below me. Too bad she's a bitch and rarely makes me feel admired. And these feelings are the antithesis of comfortable. Haymitch was right about at least one thing: it is fucked up.

"Mason, confirm West team's status," says Mr. Robot. I roll my eyes. As the sniper and thus the one with the best view, I thought I'd be asked that question, but I can hardly expect that since I screwed up our communication only moments ago.

"West team ready," Johanna verifies.

"Eastern offensive commencing in twenty seconds." I consciously draw in my focus and start breathing in a steady pattern, preparing to shoot at any instant. It's become clear over the last couple of hours that just about anything that can go wrong in the Block will go wrong, so I'm extra vigilant. I step to the other side of the window to scan the rooftops of the government-occupied territory to the north and then check over my shoulder for a surprise attack from inside my building before returning to my assigned post in time for the raid.

The crack of the target home's front door being forced open echoes over to us, followed by a cacophony of voices and a few bursts of gunfire, but nothing happens on our side. My stomach turns uneasily and an ominous chill creeps up my neck. It can't be this easy. But then I hear the creak above my head, and my stomach jolts. My experience as both hunter and prey kicks in and I don't even freeze, I just calmly whisper, "Johanna, get back tight against the wall." She doesn't answer. "Mason, do you copy?" When I'm still met with silence, I dare to lean forward enough to scan the street directly below me.

My stomach drops. Johanna has crept several feet out from the wall in anticipation of fleeing enemies to capture. She is easily visible from the rooftop above me and will be dead in seconds if she doesn't move. Not dead dead, but Block dead, and in the moment that feels just as real. "Mason!" I hiss one more time into my mouthpiece, panic spreading out in my chest. It's no use; our communicators have been scrambled, or maybe mine is just dead, but either way she can't hear me. I hear a creak from the ledge of the roof and decide it's better to give away my position than watch her get fake shot.

"Johanna, hit the wall!" I shout, and then shoot up into the roof just beyond me as I hear simultaneous gunfire roar from above. The "Peacekeeper" lets out a theatrical scream before dropping to the roof with a thud. It pulls me out of the scenario for a second with a soft laugh, but the sound of Johanna cussing below me swiftly draws me back in. I poke my head out and see her grasping her right foot and trying to scoot back the remaining two feet to the wall. Shit. On the bright side, I probably did save her from getting shot dead.

"Position compromised!" I hear her shout from the street, but it doesn't reach my earpiece. "Squadron leader, this is Mason. Do you copy?" I already know he doesn't copy. It's not just my equipment conveniently malfunctioning; the only successful communication was the one from the program informing her she'd been shot in the foot. I swipe the butt of my gun along the window frame to knock away the remaining shards, taking care to sweep them into the apartment instead of onto the street and possibly Johanna, before bracing my left hand on the frame and hopping out onto the dumpster, rifle still cocked in my right hand. I flatten out on my back and do a quick sweep of the surrounding rooftops through my scope, then wriggle to the edge and ease myself over.

Johanna startles as I drop down beside her, but thankfully holds her fire. That would have been embarrassing. "You're hurt," she observes, squinting her eyes in concern as I shrink down into a squat. I follow them to my left hand and see the gash across the heel of my palm. There's a decent amount of blood, but it doesn't look all that deep, and to be honest I didn't even feel any pain until she pointed it out.

"Not like you," I brush her off, gesturing towards her foot.

"No, I mean you're _actually_ hurt," she says, grabbing my hand and taking a closer look. I wince in reaction to her pulling a fragment of glass out, knock her hand away as she tries to pick at another.

"Leave it," I order her, "you'll just increase the bleeding." I point at the fresh stream already making its way over my wrist. "I do know a thing or two about field medicine," I explain with a comical arrogance. "My mother's a healer, you know." Johanna can't entirely suppress her grin in response to mine. I lose myself in her eyes for a second before I remember we're in a war zone. I drag her tighter up against the wall and scan the nearby rooftops for signs of Peacekeepers.

She follows my gaze, spots the window I'd jumped from and points up at it. "Why would you even do that?" she asks blankly.

"We're supposed to behave like this is an actual combat scenario, duh brainless. You're the one acting out an injury."

A spray of gunfire sounds from a rooftop to the northwest, and I automatically pull Johanna towards me and the dumpster as I propel myself backwards into cover. We lie still on the gravel-speckled pavement for a few seconds before she raises her face from my stomach and catches my eye. We both freeze, acutely aware of her positioning between my legs. I start to wrack my brain for the perfect innuendo, but the sound of more shouting and gunfire from within our target building snaps us back to the scenario at hand.

"Were you hit?" I ask. She shakes her head, so I stand up and pull her to her feet. Well, foot. "Shoot from back here, distract him," I instruct her. I slip away before she can argue and creep along the east side of the dumpster. I pop my head up and take out the enemy with one shot, but almost don't notice the next one racing around the corner to the northeast. I barely sidestep her fire before leveling her with a burst of my own. "Position compromised, no shit!" I yell to Jo as I back up to join her. "We have to get out of here."

"You have to get out of here," she corrects me. I turn to her with wide eyes and she explains, "I won't make it, not with a bad foot. I'll take my chances here and shoot anyone who comes out. Hopefully our squad breaks out the back door before one of these idiot Peacekeepers can make an accurate shot."

"They won't," I say with a shake of my head. "They have no idea you're in trouble. You need to come with me."

"We can't abandon our post without permission," she reminds me.

"We can't even ask with broken radios; it's a judgment call," I argue. "Besides, I don't think anyone's running out the back door. They're armed and fighting in there."

"So you go. I'll be out in the open for too long if I try to run, it's safer for me to stay here anyway."

"That's why I'm going to carry you," I explain.

"Over my dead body." Her eyes burn dangerously, but I refuse to back down.

"Johanna Mason, you are retreating with me even if I have drag you away kicking and screaming," I declare in no uncertain terms. But still she shakes her head. This is ridiculous. I have no time to argue with this asshole.

"I'm of no use-" is all she gets out before I punch her square in the nose, sending her crashing back against the dumpster. She immediately drops her gun and grabs at her face with both hands, blinking in surprise and to hold back the automatic tears. She doubles over, lets out a strangled cry and sucks in a breath through her teeth before raising her head and yelling, "Holy mother of fuck, Everdeen! What was that for?"

"For being a stubborn little shit," I inform her matter-of-factly. "Next time, it'll be your eye. Now pick up your gun, let's go."

Her shoulders sag and eyes plead with me as she starts, "Katniss-"

"No!" I interrupt firmly. "I'm not leaving you. Not again." I know this is all pretend, but I have a point to prove. I quickly devise a way to soften the blow to her ego while I reach down for her rifle and slip it into the holster on my back. "Besides, I need your help to get out of here. I'm going to retreat to rebel territory by running backwards along the east wall of the alley so I can deal with shooters to the north, but I need you to cover my left flank and pick off anyone on the western rooftops. Use your handgun." I grab under her armpit, turn and hoist her onto my back before she can attempt to argue again. Her knees lock around my waist compliantly.

I tell her, "Hold on."

***o***

"Why do you always have to be the hero, Everdeen?"

We must look like a couple of schoolchildren sitting outside the principal's office after a scuffle: fuming on opposite sides of a wooden bench, bloody gauze in our hands. We're actually just waiting to see my mother, but she probably won't be too pleased with us either. I roll my head that's leaning back against the wall so I can look at Johanna, hunched over with her forearms on her knees a few feet to my left. These are the first words she's spoken since I put her on my back in the Block.

"You're my partner, Johanna," I sigh wearily. "I couldn't leave you behind even if they ordered me to."

"I appreciate your intentions," she mutters tersely, eyes on her fidgeting hands, "but it's fucking embarrassing. It was bad enough when you carried me off the shooting range."

"Oh really?" I challenge her. "I don't remember you complaining at the time."

"It was a moment of weakness," she states unequivocally. She finally turns her head to catch my eye. "That's not who I want to be. And the last thing I need right now is one more reason for the doctors or the military to view me as weak." I narrow my eyes.

"It's okay to need help sometimes, Johanna," I say much softer than my expression would suggest. She looks back to the bloody dressing in her hand, and I assure her, "We all do, at some point." She shakes her head and rubs at the tacky blood staining her chin.

"I can't have you risking your life for me."

"Why not?" I demand, finally peeling myself off the wall to grab her wrist. "You did for me, and in real life, no less."

"I'm not you!" she all but shouts, frustration tainting her voice as she snatches her arm away. Why, because I'm the mockingjay? My eyes roll of their own accord. I doubt I'll ever understand this girl.

"If you think you're so much better than me and you should have been the face of the revolution, why do you value my life above your own?" I think it's a fair enough question, but Johanna must find conversing with me to be some huge chore because she just sighs tiredly and lets her shoulders droop.

"Because I've already had to," she mutters, scuffing her foot on the floor. She catches my curious gaze after a moment and suddenly straightens back up, her dead eyes icing over. "Look, I don't want you to reinforce your bad habits. You're always trying to save everyone even when it's dangerous and the odds are stacked against you. One day your luck is gonna run out and you're going to get yourself killed. You have to start playing it smarter, brainless." I growl through closed lips.

"You're impossible. You keep saying I abandoned you, but now you're mad at me for sticking with you when you were hurt and evacuating you safely? I can't win, can I?"

"I don't want your pity, Everdeen," she snaps.

"That's hilarious," I snort sarcastically. I catch her dirty look but continue, "I thought you wanted me to acknowledge your suffering. Isn't that why you were being such an attention whore last night?" Her eyes flash with anger, but she blinks it away with a wry chuckle and slumps back against the wall. "Do you really not want to talk about it?"

"Does it matter?" she sulks. "You obviously want to talk about it."

"No," I answer immediately. Johanna snorts to herself, and I quickly backpedal, "I mean, yes." She turns her head and squints at me. "I mean, I want you to know I'm here for you. If you want to talk about it."

"But you don't really want to hear it," she says sadly. The damp darkness in her eyes steals any words I'd been forming in my brain. "Don't kid yourself, Katniss. If you wanted to hear about it, you would have visited us in the hospital. You would have stayed at that table and listened to whatever Peeta had to say, even if it hurt. If you really wanted to know, you wouldn't have reacted the way you did when… when you saw what you saw yesterday. I could tell you couldn't handle it."

I want to argue with her, but I can't on good conscience. Didn't I tell Prim just last night that I didn't want to know these things? So instead I just ask, "What do you mean? How did I react?"

"You froze like you were freaked the fuck out," she informs me. "And when I saw your face, I mean, it looked like you'd just been slapped." My eyebrows shoot up and I snort.

"Well, you'd know what that looks like, now wouldn't you?" I mutter acerbically, blinking away. But she's not wrong, so I take a deep breath and admit, "It was hard to see because it's just one more thing that I know happened to you because of me. And when I think about all the weeks you spent there, months even, and the things you must have gone through on a daily basis…" I trail off as I return my gaze to the other girl and register the confusion on her face. "I mean, as if the shocks weren't bad enough…"

"Wait, no," she interrupts me. "You have the wrong idea, Katniss. Don't worry, that wasn't a regular occurrence. It was part of my birthday present from the Capitol."

I don't remember much about July 8 of this year in particular. My brain was so addled by concussion symptoms during the early weeks of my stay in Thirteen that many events from that time are all jumbled together in my memory. But I do remember that I'd wondered what Johanna was doing that day, as I had every year since her Games. Being reaped as a sixteen year-old and thus classified as one for statistical purposes had probably helped her weakling act, but on her birthday she'd quite literally come out swinging and taken down half of the remaining tributes. Three kills in one day was a new District 7 record, as Claudius Templesmith had mentioned in his commentary before enthusiastically wishing her a happy birthday. Not that she could hear him, of course.

Although that incident was rather infamous, it was probably easier for me to remember her exact date of birth than it was for most people, partly because we're both born on the eighth of a month and partly because I'd always found her compelling in some way. This year, when I'd noted the date, I'd hoped she was dead, for her own sake. But she wasn't dead, and from what she just told me, I can't imagine she was grateful for it at the time. I'm afraid to ask, but I do.

"Birthday present?"

"Do you really want to know?" she inquires with a quirked eyebrow. No, of course I don't. But I turn to face her fully and hold her gaze earnestly all the same.

"Tell me," I urge her. She averts her suddenly faraway eyes to the opposite wall.

"Let's see," she trills with false enthusiasm, "it included twenty-one lashes, twenty-one punches, twenty-one shocks… twenty-one lots of things." She shrugs and catches my eye, an ironic smile growing on her mouth. "They wanted to make it a memorable one, I guess." I think I might vomit. She quickly rids her face of any emotion. "It's cool, I'm used to having shitty birthdays."

I compare this claim to my own memories and offhandedly reflect, "I dunno, I seem to recall your seventeenth wasn't so bad." Johanna's mouth actually drops open in shock.

"Are you fucking serious?" she growls, her gaze harder than I think I've ever seen.

"What?" I ask, nervously glancing past her for any potential witnesses to an assault. We are alone. A burble of high-pitched laughter brings my attention back to Johanna, who's pulled on a sickly sweet smile and is leaning towards me menacingly.

"Was it a good day for you when you dropped those tracker jackers on the careers, killed Glimmer?" My face must go white as a sheet because I feel the blood drain from my suddenly leaden head as the scene in front of me distorts and blurs. My chest refuses to expand momentarily, some force crushing it from all sides. Even if my sudden horror isn't evident in my expression, I must give it away as I cover my face with my arms to block everything out when she continues scathingly, "When you heard her screams of terror and agony? When you saw her grotesquely fucked-up face, had to break her swollen fingers that were in a literal death grip just to pry the bow-"

"Jo, stop!" I force out of my mutinous lungs. The constriction around them finally shattered, I gasp in breath after precious breath. My name is Katniss Everdeen. I was in the 74th Hunger Games. I condemned two girls to one of the worst deaths imaginable. I am somehow still alive. I'm in District 13. I'm with Johanna Mason. She has finally stopped talking. I peek over my arms to see the older victor studying my face. She nods, seemingly satisfied.

"There you go." The hard lines etched in her brow dissolve and she hisses, "Is that really what you think of me?" Her voice and face crack long before the end of that sentence. "You think I enjoyed murdering three kids in one day, planning it, stalking them until I could make my move?" I can only stare mutely, and she responds by blinking back her tears and clenching her trembling jaw. "The Hunger Games is war, Katniss," she says coldly. "Just as real as the one we're fighting now. And in a war, sometimes you have to do things you really don't want to do because losing is not an option." Her eyes flit away from me. "You of all people should understand that." The disappointment in her voice is what gives me mine back.

"I never said I thought you enjoyed it," I lobby weakly in my defense. "I meant it was a good day for you because that's when you dropped the weakling act. You finally got to be yourself, to stop hiding who you were and playing some other part for the cameras."

"You think being a cold-blooded killer wasn't an act?" she snaps. "What, you think that's what I'm like normally?" She pulls back into her own bubble and spits down the bench, "Fuck you, you don't know me at all."

"And that's somehow my fault?" I shout back, my voice jumping an octave. "How the hell am I supposed to actually know who you are when you never let me see you?" Off Johanna's bewildered expression, I draw in a deep breath and try to regain control of my voice and face. I catch her eye intently and explain as calmly as possible, "Ever since you woke up the day after the lightning strike, you've been pushing me away."

"What the hell are you talking about?" she asks in disbelief. "I've held you every night. I've let you cry on my shoulder. I've barely left your side."

"Yeah, but you've held me at a distance all the same," I shoot back. I drop my eyes to the bench and mumble, "You haven't let me do those same things for you." A sardonic chuckle sounds from a few feet away, and I cautiously look up.

"Is that what all this was about, mockingjay?" Johanna taunts with a condescending head tilt. It reminds me a little too much of being pinned down beside the cornucopia with a gash in my forehead and a knife at my throat. "Is that what the axes were about? You need to feel like you're helping me? I don't need saving, remember?"

"I never said you did," I retort. "But I hate this being a one-way thing where you do so much for me and I feel like I'm not doing anything for you at all." It's a reckless move because I've already made myself vulnerable enough, but I lean in closer and make an ardent confession, consciously letting my face reveal the depths of my emotion. "I just want you to need me like I need you."

Johanna takes a moment to absorb this admission, seemingly struck by the weight of it. But then she chokes out an ironic laugh. "Therein lies our problem, mockingjay," she announces bitterly. "I don't want me to need anyone."

"Then you're the coward," I assert. "Pushing everyone away because you're afraid of getting hurt, that's weaker than trusting someone enough to accept help." She just glowers at me silently. "And besides," I reason, "what kind of a life can you lead, isolated like that? You might as well have died in your Games."

"We all might as well have died in our Games, Katniss," she laments resignedly just as my mother rounds the corner behind her. "We'd be better off if we'd died in our Games." My roommate only turns her head when she hears the lock click in the examination room door, and she startles and curses under her breath upon the revelation of who'd snuck up behind her. She pivots on her rear to face the newcomer and sheepishly mumbles, "Um, hi, Mrs. Everdeen."

My mother looks back and forth between the two of us and remarks, "I'm afraid to ask."

"Your darling spawn here broke my nose," Johanna offers in explanation, jerking her thumb at me over her shoulder.

"I did not break your nose," I scoff as I rise from the bench and walk around her into the room. "It's not even crooked. Stop being so dramatic."

"If your bleeding has stopped, I'm going to examine Soldier Everdeen's hand first," I hear Mom tell Johanna behind me. Well, if she's referring to me in military terms, she's definitely not happy with me. I boost myself up onto the table with my good hand as I hear the door close, and look up to see her pulling on some sterile gloves. "Let me see it, please." She takes a peek once I remove the dressing and fetches some tweezers from a cart of medical supplies to my left. "How did you manage this?" she inquires.

"Oh, she just jumped out a broken window, no big deal," Johanna informs her with a sarcastic nonchalance. "Solid decision-making, as per usual."

I grimace as Mom picks out the chip of glass still embedded in the wound. "Any altered sensation or difficulty with movement?" she asks. "It doesn't look deep enough to cause any nerve damage." I shake my head in response, and she wipes away the blood pooling in my palm with the old gauze and tosses it in the trash.

"Wouldn't that be something?" Johanna muses from beside me. "Imagine Plutarch spinning that in the propos. 'The Mockingjay is so dedicated to the cause, she lost the use of her hand in a fake firefight.' So fearless."

"Will you shut the… shut up already?" I bark, barely remembering to curb my use of profanity around my mother.

"Not my fault you're too brainless to understand what's worth getting injured over," she retorts. I'm about to remind her that we're supposed to behave realistically in the Block when her eyes suddenly grow wide and she grabs my right hand. I don't understand why until I automatically squeeze hers with a strength I didn't know I possessed as I curl into myself and howl at the sudden searing pain at the laceration site. I snatch my injured hand away from Mom and the disinfectant-soaked swab she snuck onto my wound while my attention was elsewhere.

"Ow, fuck my mother!" I screech, shaking the hand out forcefully. The sudden gale of laughter from Johanna alerts me to my poor choice of words, and I look to the healer with wide eyes. "Oh god, no, Mom, I didn't mean…" She just retrieves my hand and holds it firmly, wearing an unamused expression. Johanna pulls my face into her chest just as Mom resumes cleaning out the cut, and not exactly gently. Jo smothers my moans and keeps my forehead tucked into her neck until the swab digs deeper and I can no longer contain a full-blown scream. Instead of releasing it into the room, I shake my head free of the girl's grasp and clamp my teeth down over the meat between her shoulder and neck, clenching them every bit as tightly as my hand that's still squeezing hers. If it bothers her, she doesn't say so.

When the swab is discarded and I'm left whimpering and resting my forehead on Johanna's collarbone, she runs her thumb back and forth over my crown and whispers, "Shhh, it's over. It's over." Mom applies some kind of antiseptic cream that's cooling and very welcome, and just as I sigh heavily in relief, Johanna looks up at her and smiles broadly. "Hey, Mrs. E.," she drawls with a theatrical wink. "You're looking fabulous today." Oh, of course Johanna couldn't just let that go.

My mother examines the disheveled, bloodied girl from head to toe and simply deadpans, "Likewise, Johanna."

I laugh through the tears streaming down my crimson cheeks. I think I detect a small smile on Mom's face too, but she turns back to the supply cart before I can get a good look. My annoyance at Johanna for referencing my vulgar slip up is somewhat tempered by my gratefulness for her taking the heat off of me, even sort of turning it into a joke. I squint at her and mouth, "I hate you," while trying rather unsuccessfully not to grin.

She just squeezes my hand and doesn't even try to hide her own grin when she mouths right back, "I hate you more."

Those words don't drive me insane after all. I guess I have Haymitch to thank for that.

* * *

><p>AN: Thanks to D7P for the beta read, as is becoming customary. :)


	7. Steal

A/N: I got this one done a bit earlier than I expected, but it also took a lot more work than I thought. The more scenes there are to obsess over perfecting and the more technical or emotionally ridiculous they are, the longer it takes me ;P. And yes it has some high emotional intensity in places, but it's also probably the fluffiest chapter so far (especially in terms of angst:fluff ratio), so... enjoy the reprieve?

Thanks for all the reviews and faves and follows I've been getting since chapter 6 went up. You guys make my day, practically every day. Special shout out to sayimnay, because now I can officially say I'm a missionary of Joniss. :D (Come to the dark side, we have cookies. And lesbians.)

* * *

><p>"Hey, little duck." I plop onto the bench to Prim's right as she looks up from her dinner and nods in greeting. "Mom coming?"<p>

"Should be. How's your hand?" I supinate my left hand and extend it to her so she can examine it herself. She fingers the edge of the interlaced network of wound closures and comments, "I thought you'd need stitches, from what I heard."

"Me too," I concur. "Not that I'm complaining she didn't stick a needle in my hand. Getting it cleaned hurt bad enough." Prim releases my hand and turns back to her meal, and I scan the room for signs of our mother. Finding none, I lean in and whisper, "Hey, did you guys hear us talking this morning?"

It's hard to miss Prim's vexed tone when she mutters, "You mean yelling?"

"No, I mean talking," I reply sheepishly. "After the yelling. I mean when… when we were talking about what happened after Dad died." She lifts an eyebrow.

"Didn't hear that part. We left pretty quick once it started. Couldn't really make out most of what you were saying anyway." I sigh in relief. "Why?"

"Mom seemed kind of pissed at me when she was fixing up my hand."

Prim nods knowingly and explains, "She's worried you're going to make a fool of her by causing trouble. She vouched for you two, you know."

"Yeah, I know." I pick at my food, not really sure how to bring up what I want to ask her. "You, uh… you told Jo I wanted us to run away. After the Tour." She catches my eye and I gaze at her curiously. "Why?"

"We were talking about how you're always looking out for me. It was when you were in Two. She told me how much she admires you for volunteering for me." I choke mid-swallow and almost spit out a mouthful of rice. Prim narrows her eyes and inquires, "What? Is that really so hard to believe?"

I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and admit, "I guess it shouldn't be."

"Well that's how it started, and we just got talking. I was saying you would do anything to protect me, you'd leave the house and the money and your life behind and go anywhere just to keep us safe."

"Problem is, she doesn't see that as a good thing." Prim makes a questioning face, so I elaborate, "Leaving my life behind meant leaving my responsibilities behind too. Not to you guys, to the country. She thinks my duties to the revolution outweighed my duties to my family. That it was selfish of me to want to get out before Snow killed us all instead of staying and being a symbol for the rebellion."

Prim sits back and ponders this for a moment. Finally she muses, "I can get why she'd think that. Her family is gone; maybe this is all she can see now. Maybe she doesn't remember what it's like to have that responsibility and be scared that she'll lose people." I consider this and am struck by the memory of the torment in Johanna's eyes when I said I was playing the game because I still had people to protect.

"No," I counter, "no, she remembers. She probably remembers too much." I fiddle with my cutlery and try to block out the images from my first Games that my latest spat with Johanna has unearthed. "I know I do."

Prim covers my hand with her own and sends me a reassuring look until my eyes clear and I nod in thanks. Her mouth quirks pensively and she suggests, "In that case, maybe she's bitter that you were so set on protecting us when she couldn't protect her own family."

"Who couldn't protect her own family?" a familiar high-pitched voice asks from behind us. Dread weighs down my stomach as I turn to see Johanna standing behind us, tray in her hands and eyebrow cocked theatrically.

"Oh, shit." I don't realize I've said this out loud until Johanna smirks and flits her eyes over to Prim, whose mostly guilty expression now shows a flicker of amusement.

"Hey, littledeen," Johanna greets Prim before stepping over the bench with her right foot and sinking down to straddle it beside me. "So," she asks far too casually to be serious, "what're you guys talking about?"

"How you think Katniss's plan to run away was irresponsible," Prim says frankly. I don't bother to glare at her because I guess it was obvious anyway.

"Hmm," Johanna draws out sweetly, drumming her fingers on the table. "Do you talk to your sister about all of our fights, Everdeen?"

"I just wanted to know why she told you about it, that's all," I say through my palms, massaging my brow.

"Did she give you a satisfying answer?" Johanna asks with just a hint of malice.

"Let it go, Johanna," Prim interjects from across me.

Johanna swings her second leg over the bench and starts silently poking her food around. I think she might actually let it go until she grumbles, "If you wanted to know why I was upset, you could have just asked me."

"Oh, so you could blow up at me again?" I retort.

"Stop it!" Prim snaps. "Both of you. Katniss, Johanna admires your guts for volunteering for me and for standing up to the Gamemakers by not killing Peeta. Johanna, Katniss always thought you were the coolest thing ever, trust me. She'd go on and on about you and how brilliant your weakling act was after your Games. You're both always asking me about each other and it's obvious you care. You're friends, not enemies, okay? You two like each other, so can you please stop being stupid and just act like it?"

The two of us sit in stunned silence in the wake of Prim's outburst. Though I'd love to, I don't dare turn my head and evaluate Johanna's expression because I have gone bright red myself, my emotions an awkward combination of embarrassed and flattered. I can only assume her face looks similar, only the blush would be more evident on her creamy skin. I will myself to keep looking forward, though Prim's uncharacteristically hard gaze isn't especially pleasant either.

"Okay," Jo says quietly. She gets her volume and sass back when she adds, "You Everdeen women are so demanding."

"How's your nose, by the way?" Prim asks her with a pointed look at me.

"Her nose is fine," I groan with an emphatic eye roll just as Mom sets her tray down at the corner seat next to Prim.

"I hope you're not practicing your colorful new vocabulary in front of your little sister," she says as she takes her seat.

"No, of course not," I mumble with another blush, hoping no one will mention my indiscretion a few moments ago. Prim bounces her eyes between the two of us, a grin slowly growing on her face.

"What vocabulary, Katniss?" she prods with a smirk. "What did you say?"

"Nothing you need to hear, little duck."

"Come on, tell me!" she giggles, shaking my forearm.

"No! Oh my god, seriously." I catch Mom's eye and shake my head to showcase my annoyance, but then notice Prim looking at Jo behind my back and grinning.

I whip my head around in time to see Johanna mouthing, "-you later" and throwing her a wink. I punch her in the upper arm.

"Don't you dare," I warn her. Jo laughs despite my heated glare. "It's not funny."

"It was really funny, actually." Her grin prevails until my mother cuts in sternly.

"Johanna Mason, if you repeat that to my thirteen year-old, I will go straight to the hospital, tell them how concerned I am about your frail mental health, and recommend you be relegated to inpatient status immediately." Johanna's eyes go wide at Mom's threat, I think in surprise more than fear. "Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, Mrs. Everdeen," Johanna relents, nodding deferentially and going back to her food.

We mostly eat to the soundtrack of Prim after that as she prattles on about her first few days of doctor's training. She's gotten to the topic of pus oozing from second-degree burns before I start to lose my appetite. I glance over to Johanna to see her eyes already on me. She makes a comically disgusted face and I have to contain a giggle. It comes out more like a little snort, but still catches Prim's attention.

"What?" the younger girl demands, whipping around to look at us.

"I was just asking Katniss's opinion of President Coin dating Plutarch Heavensbee," Johanna deadpans.

"What?!" she repeats as I stifle another laugh.

"Yeah, didn't you hear? Haymitch caught them making out in Command the other day. Apparently, it was quite a show." She wiggles her eyebrows and Prim laughs.

"You are such a liar, Johanna," she chuckles. Jo lifts her eyebrows one more time and reaches for her water. Just as she's downing it, Prim pipes up, "Hey, you wanna play cards tonight?" Johanna swallows and flicks her eyes from Prim to me and back again. "Come on, please, Jo?" Prim whines. "Katniss has been hogging you all week and I never get to see you anymore."

Johanna and I exchange nervous glances. Between that statement and Prim's ambiguous comment about us liking each other, I'm a little on edge. Jo hesitates for a second before answering, "I dunno, littledeen. Even if I didn't have to study, Katniss still would. Big sis has to concentrate on her gig in the Capitol."

"So she can hang out with Mom in our compartment," Prim points out. "Or we can just play in ours, if Mom doesn't mind." She looks to her left for approval.

"Why don't we all play?" Mom suggests. I freeze with my fork at my lips and my mouth hovering open. Mom catches my eye and says, "We don't see enough of you now, either. And I wouldn't mind learning some of these games I keep hearing about." Her eyes move over to Johanna. "And about District 7, in general." I think someone just dropped a brick into my stomach. I look over my shoulder to see a similarly uneasy expression on Jo's face.

"Yeah, sure!" Prim agrees. "Make it a family games night, like you have in Seven."

I raise my eyebrows at Johanna in a silent question, and she answers with an almost imperceptible nod. I turn back to the others and say, "Maybe just give us an hour to study, then we'll come over?"

***o***

"I can tell you've been practicing your shuffling," Johanna praises Prim as we approach the table in my family's compartment. The blonde girl nods cheerfully and I slide onto the bench seat across from her. "Katniss, did you know that your sweet, innocent little sister stole these cards?" Jo asks as she settles down beside me.

"I did know that, actually." I stick my tongue out at Jo, who turns back to Prim with a quizzical expression.

"Where did you get them again?"

"Hospital break room," Prim reminds her.

"I didn't hear that," interjects a voice from my left. We look over into time to see Mom rounding the glass partition on her way out of the bathroom. I think she's trying to look stern, but her eyes are smiling for her. "So," she says as she sits down to Prim's right, "what are we playing?"

"It's called rummy," my sister pipes up as she passes the deck to Johanna. A sly smile crawls onto my face and I turn to the dealer.

"Is that one of the games you all play when people come over to drink?" I tease. She grins and shakes her head.

"I don't think that's why it's called that, but I can't deny that alcohol is ever involved," she admits, sneaking a glance at my mother. She clears her throat and asks, "Where's Buttercup?"

"Sleeping, I think," Prim replies. Jo frowns, and my jaw drops.

"You like Buttercup?" I demand incredulously.

"Buttercup likes her," Prim corrects me.

"Buttercup doesn't like anyone," I scoff, which just draws laughs out of the whole table. I turn a deep red because they don't even have to say the punch line that Buttercup just doesn't like me. Just like most people.

Johanna takes her time explaining the game to Mom and I with the help of a partial demo hand with Prim. Prim offers to keep score as Jo shuffles the deck again in preparation for our first hand for points. I sit back and watch while she deals out laughs and cards to my family, some warm and heavy feeling settling in my stomach. When Mom finally draws first card, I pick up my hand and lean forward to rest my elbows on the table.

I don't know why I do what I do next. Maybe it's my rising physical craving from being squished so close together, or maybe it's just the thrill of doing something sneaky right under Mom's nose, but for some reason I let my left knee fall to the side to rest against Johanna's right. I'm not sure exactly what reaction I'm looking for. A slight shift of her leg or increase in pressure against mine? A hand cupping the inside of my knee? Okay, come to think of it, that's definitely what I want, though I know it's unrealistic given that she's holding a bunch of cards. But even a second of eye contact to acknowledge the fact that I'm touching her would probably be enough to make my heart flutter at the moment. It just grows heavy inside my chest instead, because she does nothing to acknowledge the contact. Nothing at all.

I irritably retract my knee and decide to just kick her ass at a card game instead. I turn out to have a strong combination of resolve and luck, because I go out to end the hand each of the first three rounds, earning twenty bonus points each time. When I slap down a run of four and toss my last card onto the discard pile, Prim throws up her arms in disbelief.

"No way!" she whines. "You're cheating." I just grin broadly and shrug.

"Beginner's luck," Johanna grumbles as she counts her points. Once all the scores are in, she gathers up the cards from the others and plops the stack down in front of me. "Oh, look whose turn it is to deal," she taunts me. I look down helplessly at the cards and then shift my gaze to Prim, who thankfully takes pity on me and relieves me of the stack. Johanna chuckles and shakes her head at my sister. "She's gotta learn to shuffle sometime, you know."

"You must've learned at a young age," Mom butts in. "Prim tells me everyone plays in Seven."

"At least in my home village and the main town," Jo shrugs, "But I hear it's the same in other ones too."

"That's right, it's pretty big, isn't it? Where in the district are you from?"

"Up past the fiftieth." All three Everdeens stare blankly at her, so she waves her hand dismissively and rephrases, "Way in the northern end."

"Are you from a big family?" comes the next question, and my gut turns in a sudden fit of nausea.

"Mom!" I shoot her an angry warning look for touching the taboo topic while instinctively laying a hand on Johanna's shoulder. I feel her muscles relax after a second as she releases a long breath.

"It's okay, Katniss," she tells me, briefly flicking her eyes over to me and giving me a reassuring nod. She turns back to my mother and answers, "Yeah, I am. I had three brothers, two older, one younger. And an older sister."

"Two older brothers?" Mom's eyebrows jump. "You must've gotten beat up a lot."

"Oh no, not really," Johanna smiles nostalgically. "We roughhoused a bit, and that's how I learned to wrestle. I won the juvenile district championship twice before I got reaped."

I slowly turn to face my roommate with narrowed eyes. "So you let me beat you," I deduce indignantly.

Johanna looks me over from head to toe and smirks, "I never said that. You're out of my weight class, stretch."

"Oh, right," I snort. "With all your attitude, sometimes I forget how tiny you are."

Johanna cocks a challenging eyebrow and states, "Actually, it was my sister I had to watch out for." She catches Prim's eye and grins. "Older sisters are the worst, aren't they? Pushing you around, making fun of you, dressing you up in outfits…"

"Katniss was never the dressing up type," Prim interjects amusedly.

"I should have guessed," Johanna smirks, pointedly eyeing me up again. I barely even have time to glare at her before Prim cuts in again.

"And she was never mean. Well, maybe a bit when we were little, but that's it."

"That's just because she had to be your parent too." Johanna reasons flippantly. It's maybe a split second later that a shadow crosses her face and she blinks rapidly. "Uh, I mean, obviously when a parent dies, everyone who's old enough has to start chipping in," she backpedals. I sort of resent her classification of my contributions to the family as mere chipping in, but I don't argue with her because I know she's trying to save both herself and my mother some embarrassment. "It makes you grow up fast," she continues, now looking at me. She gives me a slight smile and nods admiringly, but perhaps she catches my annoyance because she finally turns to face Mom and declares, "You've raised quite an amazing young woman here, Mrs. Everdeen." Or maybe she's just sucking up. Either way, it makes my heart swell.

"Thank you, Johanna," Mom replies with a perceptive scan of the girl. "But I can't claim much responsibility for that." I can't hide the surprise on my face as she catches my eye. It's not that we don't all know that, it's just something that's always gone unsaid. Prim finally hands me back the cards, and the chore of dealing pulls me from the moment. My eyes settle on Johanna just as I finish.

So she thinks I'm amazing, huh? I grin devilishly and nab my hand of cards, raising it up to obscure my face from those across the table. I'm afraid I'll chicken out if I pause for even a second, so I immediately morph my face into my best imitation of that suggestive look Johanna kept giving me up until last night. I turn to her and see she's organizing her hand, so I nudge her foot with mine under the table. When she turns her attention to me, her eyes pop open and her jaw goes slack. Her hands too, apparently, because her cards slip out of them and scatter on the table. She shakes the shock from her face and scoops them back up, mumbling about how at least they all landed face down. Then she looks back at me and mouths, "Asshole."

My mother clears her throat, and this time we both jump. "So, Johanna," she inquires as my roommate draws the first card, "What do you want to do when the war's over?" Jo takes a moment to finish her turn and collect herself before answering.

"Go back to Seven, if I can," she says hopefully. "I miss home."

"Even if you could go anywhere?" Mom grills her. "No itch to see the rest of the country?" This is starting to get embarrassing again, but thankfully Johanna appears to be mostly amused.

"I saw it all on my Victory Tour." She shifts a little under Mom's gaze and adds, "But I suppose I could relocate anywhere, if I had a good enough reason." Mom considers this with a pensive hum.

"Would it be difficult for you to find work in your field if you moved elsewhere?"

"They'll need to build houses and furniture everywhere, I'm sure," the victor responds with a slight defensive edge to her tone. "I know how to do more than just chop down trees." She waits a beat before adding, "And people." I am about to kick her when Mom surprisingly chuckles.

"You've kept your sense of humor," she observes. "That's good. Trust me, I know these things."

"Because you're a healer?" Jo suggests.

"That, and personal experience," she confesses. My mother's openness this evening continues to surprise me. It surprises me most of all just as I'm standing up to leave shortly after ten o'clock. She steps closer, runs her hands down my arms and beams, "All grown up." She pulls me into a rare hug and mumbles into my hair, "I love you. Always have, always will."

"Okay," I respond, slightly puzzled. "I love you too." I guess I shouldn't be surprised; I'm still feeling a bit sappy as well after that discussion earlier regarding my lost childhood. It's not until Johanna and I are alone that I come to fully understand.

"Your mom thinks I'm your girlfriend or something," she comments the second I've slid our compartment door shut behind us. I'm glad I'm still holding onto it because the ground suddenly feels like it's shifting underneath me.

"What?"

Johanna laughs at my wide eyes and teases, "Come on, you didn't notice? That was practically a future in-law interview. 'Tell me about your upbringing and your future plans for making a living.'" Her grin falters slightly. "Parents are hilarious, eh?"

My expression shifts from stunned to indignant. What's so fucking hilarious about the idea of Johanna being my girlfriend? I glare at her and storm to the bathroom. I'm about to wash my hands after doing my business when I remember the sticky strips holding together the lacerated flesh on my left hand. I can technically shower with them, but I'd rather keep the setup dry. I'm considering alternative bathing options when I suddenly get a very bad idea.

I take a page out of Johanna's book and take a few minutes to wipe my dirtier parts down with a damp cloth. I scrub away the schedule tattoo, taking my jitters out on the skin of my right forearm. I'm all but completely sure by now that Johanna is purposely refusing to flirt with me, and now she's laughing at the notion of us being involved romantically? Fine. We'll see who's laughing now. I take one last deep and hopefully calming breath right before I exit the bathroom.

I round the corner to see Jo sitting on her bed with her back up against the wall opposite my bed, staring intently at one of the tactics books. When I open the dresser to access my sleeping clothes, she looks up and eyes me quizzically. "You're not having a shower?" she asks.

"No, I'm a little concerned about the wound closures failing," I explain as I turn to face her and reach down for the hem of my shirt. "They're supposedly waterproof, but I remain unconvinced." I abruptly lift my arms and whip the shirt over my head. Once the material clears my vision, I'm treated to the sight of Johanna's brown eyes as wide as I've ever seen them. I toss the shirt to the floor and smirk as her eyes come up to catch mine. But then she proves my speculations true by immediately averting her gaze to the book in her hands. I frown and consider my next words.

"I wouldn't want them to… you know… peel off," I add, teasing my pants down my hips and dropping them to my feet. Johanna lowers the book and quirks an eyebrow in what looks to be mild amusement.

"What are you doing?" she inquires in a frustratingly unaffected voice.

"What?" I sass her. "Isn't a girl allowed to change in her own compartment?" Johanna chuckles while I step out of the pants and kick them aside.

"Of course you are," she replies, "you just usually do it in the bathroom."

"I guess I do, don't I?" I ponder. I turn back to the dresser and grab my sleeping pants. "Well, this is still much more private than a glass elevator, anyway." I peek over my left shoulder and see her squinting at me. When I steel my nerves and peel off my undershorts, she just brings the book up to her face and keeps it there. I sigh and step into the pants, then retrieve my clothes from the floor. I toss them into the drawer, quickly followed by my bra. I start to pull the sleep top over my head, but just before the hem passes my eyes, I sneak another glance at Johanna and catch her peeping over the top of the book. I grin to myself as I pull the shirt down and pop my head out the top, then flash said grin at her briefly before closing the drawer and hopping up onto my own bed.

"I think I underestimated you, Everdeen," she observes. "I guess you're not as pure as we all assumed. Or at least not as prudish."

"People make wrong assumptions about me all the time," I assert, straightening up and scooting forward to let my legs dangle over the edge.

"Yeah, me too," she chimes in with the slightest edge to her tone. I shift uncomfortably and drop my gaze to the floor, recalling our conversation in the hospital.

"Jo, I think I owe you an apology," I confess. I raise my eyes to find hers attentive. "I misjudged you. I mean, I did admire you, like Prim said, but I never made an effort to really understand who you were. I'm sorry I made so many assumptions about you."

Johanna's eyes briefly flick to the ceiling as she licks in lips in thought. She shrugs, tosses the book to the foot of her bed and admits, "I assumed things about you too, girl on fire. It's fine. It's over." She smiles reassuringly. That's true. After everything else that has happened today, I almost forgot about our showdown up against the wall this morning. I give my head a quick shake to clear that distracting thought.

"I never really tried to analyze how much of your persona in general is an act," I say. "But then again, you don't make it easy. You're in character a lot in person too."

"That's the thing, Everdeen. I became everything they wanted me to be," she explains wryly. Her mouth twitches and she adds, "Well, not everything, hence the 'not being able to protect my family.'" I wince and she shrugs. "Eventually, the lines between you and your character blur and you don't know what's you and what's what you're supposed to be anymore, you know?"

Johanna sucks her bottom lip into her teeth and squints at me for several seconds before popping it free and plucking at it, as I've noticed she's prone to do when deep in thought. My heart starts pounding in anticipation. She finally pushes off the wall and scoots forward to hang her legs off the bed. "You know what it's like to act for the cameras," she proclaims knowingly. "Don't you?" I gulp and fight the impulse to look away. Some instinct in me knows exactly where this is going, and though my stomach is suddenly spasming and I'm feeling lightheaded, I want to set things straight. So to speak.

"You mean about Peeta?" I ask. She holds eye contact and nods, and I return the gesture. "Finnick saw through it too."

"Oh, I know, anyone with half a brain could," she spouts flippantly. "But I have to hand it to you, your acting improved marginally." I detect a hint of insecurity when she clarifies, "In the Quell, you seemed pretty attached."

"I never loved him, Jo. Not like that." I give that a moment to sink in, and by the growing laxity in her face, I'm sure I'm successful. My heart pounds yet harder and I begin to ramble nervously. "Honestly, I'm not sure I'm even capable of having those feelings for him. I mean, it's nothing in comparison…" I trail off as I realize what I'm about to say. I'm not ready to blatantly state my affection for her yet, not when she hasn't done the same. Especially not with her rebuffing my advances as of late.

"In comparison to what?" Johanna prods. I take my time choosing my words.

"To what I thought it should be. What I was always told it should be, how I should feel about a boy." I shrug. "I never really cared much about boys, never got why other girls went so weird over them." If she's looking for a confession, that's the closest thing she's going to get.

"So…" she queries, eyes on her feet, "you still wouldn't choose him, even if he recovered? You wouldn't want to be with him then?"

"If we win, I won't have to be. And if we lose, I'll be dead anyway." A corner of Jo's mouth twitches in acknowledgement of this statement's truthfulness. I consider it further and muse, "I guess I could be. He's strong and caring and familiar. He was always a good guy. Maybe I could grow to love him, I don't know." What could my life have been like with Peeta had I never stumbled upon my lurking attraction to Johanna? Stuck in a rebuilt Twelve, eating my feelings in the form of freshly baked cheese buns, popping out babies I don't really want. Alive in body but not in soul, unfulfilled, drowning all my life in the memories of everyone I couldn't save that he reminds me of. I don't think I could ever be satisfied with that life now.

"I can understand why you'd want to give him a chance," Johanna mumbles, pulling me out of my thoughts. She's swinging her legs a little off the edge of the bed and picking at a cuticle. "And I understand why no one would want to steal you from him, why Gale is sort of keeping his distance and not taking advantage of the situation." She finally looks up. "Peeta loves you. Really, some part of him still does." She studies my surely perplexed expression and bites her lip. "I mean, I always knew that, but in the Capitol… it was like you were his only hope, the only light left in his world." She swallows. "He screamed for you. All the time."

"So did you."

Jo's feet lose their momentum and soon hang as loosely as her jaw. She stares for a moment through wide eyes before snapping her mouth shut and shaking her head slightly. "Did he tell you that?" she asks.

"You were screaming for me during your flashback," I inform her. Johanna blinks down to the floor and blushes slightly. "You don't remember?"

"No," she admits. "I was in another world." Then maybe she doesn't remember the kiss, either. I'm afraid to ask. Johanna catches my eye again shyly, and I find myself unconsciously dropping to my feet and easing myself closer. Maybe she's every bit as afraid as I am. Afraid of being loved and left. Afraid of betraying an ally.

"Johanna, no one could steal me from Peeta," I assure her as I raise my hands to lightly rest on her knees. She squints in confusion, and I catch her eye meaningfully. "I was never his to begin with."

A smile starts to break onto Johanna's face before she ducks her head to hide it, nodding slowly. "Okay," she murmurs. When she eventually shows her face again, my eyes are there to meet hers. I nod once and lift a corner of my own mouth in reply. She zeroes in on my lips and I freeze, silently hoping but unable to close the distance myself. But then she just hops off the bed, forcing me to step back out of her personal space. "I'm gonna get ready for bed," she says awkwardly, bending down to open her own drawer.

I'm already burrowed under the covers by the time Jo returns from the bathroom, laughing. "So, Everdeen…" she drawls teasingly, "ever left a mark on a girl before?" I prop myself up on my elbows to see her face sporting twinkling eyes and a deadly grin. "You know, I never pegged you for a biter." She drags her collar down her left shoulder to reveal a couple of purple half moons branded on her skin. My eyes widen at both the sight and the immediate heat and pressure it elicits in my stomach and between my legs. I've marked her. Staked a claim. It's more erotic than I could have imagined.

"I…" I stammer, "n-no, I haven't. Boy or girl." Johanna grins and nudges me so I'll move over.

"First time for everything." She settles in behind me and slides her hands down my arms to grasp my own hands, as I'm now accustomed to. "I'm just finding out all kinds of interesting things about you today, girl on fire."

"Mm? Like what?" I mumble.

"I found out your hands are even stronger than I realized," she purrs into my neck while giving them a squeeze. I can't help but break into a smile. Have I restored the natural balance of things? I peek over my shoulder to confirm what I somehow already know: she's doing that thing with her eyes again. "Strong fingers can be useful for more than just pulling bowstrings, you know," she husks directly into my ear, her warm breath making me shiver involuntarily. But then she licks the backside of my earlobe and I downright jolt in her arms.

"Fuck," I pant in irritation as she cackles with mirth, "you scared me."

"Is that what that was?" she breathes, wiggling her hips a little. Another smile sneaks onto my lips despite the shaking of my head. I have never been more pleased to be offended.

"God, you're such a pervert, Johanna!" I exclaim disbelievingly. "What am I ever going to do with you?" I feel a smile to match mine growing on my neck.

"I could give you a list of ideas."

***o***

"Where's lover boy?" My teeth grit and muscles clench as I struggle under the weight of the deceptively small girl who's wrestled me onto my back. "Oh, I see," she taunts me, head canting to the side, "you were gonna help him, right?" I flex the wrist she has pinned with her foot, but I can't pry it free. "Like you helped Rue?" I can practically feel my eyes darkening as my body quakes with rage and adrenaline, desperately fighting to free myself or at least shut Clove up. Where the hell is Thresh? Shouldn't he be pulling her off of me right about now? "Like you helped Glimmer?"

My energy is sapped in an instant. I lie still in the grass, staring up into those dark, spiteful eyes. "Yeah," she grins. She whips out a tiny knife and drags it down my cheek. "And now, we're gonna help you." Clove abruptly stands up and backs away, allowing another, much more terrifying enemy to come into view. No one could match this face to the girl from the interviews, from the chariot ride, charming the Capitol with her beauty. But I recognize it. Glimmer's abhorrent face postmortem is one of the things I most wish I could forget, one of the things I'm sure I never will.

"Hello, Katniss," she says, the mouth I could barely make out now twisting in a snarl. She begins to stalk towards me, sending fear pulsing through my whole body. I start scrambling backwards in a crabwalk, but my arms fail me and I collapse on my back again. I suddenly notice another girl besides Clove backing up Glimmer. A girl that, despite the moderate number of bumps from the tracker jacker stings on her face, I recognize as the career from District 4. The other one I killed that morning. The three of them advance menacingly in a V formation. "This wasn't going to be personal, you know," Glimmer informs me. "Losing was just not an option for me." My eyes widen. I know those words from somewhere. "But now…" Her eyes combust with anger, and my sudden terror makes my limbs move again. I've shuffled backwards a mere few feet before I begin tumbling down a steep embankment.

I crash into the ground at the bottom of the hill with a crunch that rattles my bones and knocks the air from my lungs. My eyes flutter open and try to focus in the darkness now surrounding the scene. That's when I spot the mist floating down towards me. My hands twitch in the damp jungle soil, but that's all the movement I can muster in my shock from the fall. I sigh and go limp, not just resigning myself to the poison fog, but also sort of welcoming it. Maybe it will mercifully engulf and kill me this time. It would be painful, I'm sure, but quick, if Mags's death was any indication. Mags. One more death on my personal toll. The mist fails to deflect above me, and I smile. It will be over soon. I draw in what should be my last breath.

What feels like specks start to settle on my skin, but no pain accompanies it. My brow furrows and I breathe in again to ingest the poison. Instead I choke on dust and start sputtering out a series of coughs that pull me up into a sitting position. I clear my throat and spit out the offending particles, then lean back a little and support my weight with my hands as I try to get my bearings. The first thing I notice is the chill in my fingers, the hardness of the surface beneath me. As the dust settles around me, I start to make out other details, like the debris surrounding me and the body crushed under a boulder a few feet to my right. I cough again and try to move to help the person. Suddenly my face is as cold as my hands as the blood drains from it. I can't move my legs. I examine them visually. They look perfectly fine. I try to move them again and realize with a shudder that I can't feel them either. A loud explosion suddenly rocks the whole room, or whatever it is, and more chunks of rock rain down around me. It's a few seconds before another layer of dust settles on my face. Stone dust, I realize. And in that instant, I am struck by the knowledge of where I am.

"You have to do things you really don't want to do," I hear Johanna's voice echoing from behind me just as another explosion rattles the Nut. She was right; I of all people should understand her actions and their motivations. And I do. I understand Johanna far too well, I realize. I roll onto my stomach and start clawing at the cold stone floor, dragging my useless legs behind me as I crawl towards help, an exit, anything. My weak and unstable arms make it maybe ten feet before they give out and my chin cracks on the unforgiving surface. I try to call out for Johanna, but when I inhale I choke on the dust my breath sucks up off the stone. She's not coming, no one is. I will die here, alone.

I don't jolt awake from this nightmare. I just slowly become aware that I'm now on my side on a soft, warm surface. I recognize this change around the time I feel the tears rolling over the bridge of my nose and across my cheek. Despite the warmth emanating from the cocoon of blankets and the other body within it, the sweat that's broken out on my skin is causing me to shiver. The leftover adrenaline and emotion from the series of disturbing dreams probably aren't helping in that regard.

I peek over my shoulder and identify Johanna passed out on her back only inches from me. As I sit up gingerly, I scoot over to avoid making contact and waking her. I pull my knees up to my chest and wipe my face with my hands, focus on keeping my breathing even and quiet despite the visuals from the nightmare that keep invading my mind. My trembling only increases the longer I sit up in bed, as does the urge to get the hell out of here. My gaze drops to my sleeping bedmate, and I only briefly consider waking her. She is the one who dredged up these unpleasant memories in the first place, so why give her the satisfaction of consoling me? Because I want her to, that's why. But my pride wins out and I start to maneuver over her and out of the bed.

I'm not sure where I'm going to go. Maybe just to the bathroom so I can break down in privacy. Perhaps to wake Haymitch or Gale. Gale wouldn't understand, not like another victor would, but he knows how to hold me quietly and not ask questions. I'm still debating whether I desire advice or comfort more when the person who gives me the best combination of the two speaks up.

"How long are you going to hover over me like that, Everdeen?" I startle and lose my balance, falling half off the bed and half on top of the girl, who reaches out with lightning reflexes to nab my shirt and pull me to safety. "Not that I minded you straddling me," jokes Johanna, "I just wondered when you'd make up your mind."

Normally I would relish the opportunity to be in this position and use any excuse possible to stay there, but I am irritated by both her ill-timed levity and her responsibility for my current episode, so I push myself up off of her and back into my previous position. I look down within a couple of seconds of wrapping my arms around my knees again and see Johanna's eyes narrowed in analysis and concern. My fragile barrier dividing me from my emotions and Johanna starts to crumble just from that one look, and I kind of hate myself for it. She inherently possesses this uncanny ability to see right through me and leave me feeling vulnerable, and not having the will to fight it feels weak, somehow.

"Katniss, are you okay?" I avert my gaze and tip my head to wipe the tear rolling down my cheek on the sleeve covering my upper arm, noticing but trying to ignore how my inspirations have begun to escalate in force and volume again. "Hey, come here," she urges me sleepily with a tug on my shirt. "Talk to me." She flattens her palm against my ribcage, melting the last of my meager defenses. I begrudgingly collapse back down onto the bed and try to steady my breathing. Once I manage to get it somewhat under control, I roll over to face Johanna and find my face only inches from hers. She blinks and nods softly in a silent command to speak. I snuffle and swipe at some tears with my hand, trying to find my words.

"How do you live with it?" comes my rough and phlegmy voice. "The things you did?"

Johanna twitches her eyebrows up and mumbles, "Not very well." She reaches out and gently cups the same cheek she slapped not 24 hours earlier, her thumb resting partially on my lips. I barely move them to lay the tiniest of kisses on it, and she grunts in acknowledgement before murmuring groggily, "I just refuse to die inside."

I nudge her hand with my chin, prompting her heavy lids to reopen. Seeing I am unsatisfied and still riveted, she smoothes my hair behind my ear and sighs, "And I remind myself that I'm alive, so I must have done something right." She catches my eye meaningfully and continues, "There's a saying: 'The end justifies the means.' You're alive, Everdeen. And no one can blame you for what you had to do to make that happen." Jo tucks my head under her chin and I compliantly nuzzle into her neck. It's a few moments before she speaks again. "No one but you. But that's always the problem, isn't it?"

***o***

My boot scuffs louder than I'd like it to on the pavement as I halt abruptly and snap my right arm out to restrain Kearns. The boy teeters beside me midstep until my palm directs him backwards, and not a moment too soon, because the soldier behind me almost immediately smacks into me in the darkness. I barely get a foot under my weight to keep myself from tumbling forward, then turn to glare at her. My eyes move back to Kearns, who is eyeing me questioningly. He's not the most aware teenager I've ever met, despite being book smart and brimming with enthusiasm. He would have been easy pickings for the careers had he been born in another district and happened to get reaped. I almost shot him when I heard him creeping up behind me mere minutes ago, but thankfully I held my fire until I realized he was not dressed in the enemy's white.

Our squad began the mission scattered throughout the Block, which to be accurate is actually more like four square blocks, not even counting alleys as cross streets. Our objective is simply to reassemble the squad using only our commander's instructions, only it's not so simple due to the abnormally high number of Peacekeepers roaming about the field of play. I'd been navigating northeast to the assigned rendezvous point mid-way up the eastern boundary when I'd wheeled around to see my squadmate silently raising his hands in the air in a diplomatic gesture, the busty and apparently nightblind girl he's always shooting guns and longing glances with lagging only a few feet behind him. Identity is difficult to place in the near pitch darkness, but I recognized him by his lanky build and telltale hazel eyes, which now widen as they finally detect the mine he almost stepped on. He nods at me in thanks and I hold a finger to my lips before pulling him behind me to hug the wall I'm following.

My hand detects the corner of the building once I've crept forward a few more steps, so I stop and scout out the intersection. Satisfied that it's clear, I wave the others forward and pad across to the north side of the street as quickly as possible. The other two hustle past me, raising a ridiculous racket that is sure to attract attention. I roll my eyes and consider ditching these deadweight Peacekeeper magnets before they get me killed, but that's not really the spirit of teamwork our instructors want to see. If my bearings are correct, we're only a block southwest of our destination anyway. If I can deliver them safely, it looks good on me. I sweep the intersection once more before bringing up the rear.

All hell breaks loose only moments later when a smoke bomb lands about ten feet northeast of Kearns, who's foolishly wandered a ways ahead of me. The thick, dark smoke has almost obscured what little I can see of him before he unexpectedly collapses. I suddenly register the slight hissing sound and instantly make the connection.

"Masks!" I call out once as loudly as I can before wrestling mine off of my belt and over my face, simultaneously dropping to my knees to avoid any bullets my voice may have attracted. I'd risked the volume because if any other squad members are nearby, they may be falling prey to the same trap. Disguising gas with a smoke bomb is a clever trick. The girl also passes out before she can heed my warning. I don't know whether the gas is supposed to be poisonous or just knockout in this scenario, but I abandon the unresponsive bodies all the same and slink forward into the fog. I would need help to move them both successfully anyway.

All of my instincts tell me that I'm walking into some kind of trap, but I force myself to keep moving forward towards where my squad should hypothetically be. I creep along the wall at a snail's pace, my heart pounding in my ears, the sucking sound each inspiration draws from my gas mask almost as loud. I progress about twenty yards before the mist really begins to thin out. When my left hand I'm sliding along the wall meets air, I realize that that's because I've reached an alley that is allowing it more space to diffuse. I hurry past the alley to the clearer air on the other side of it.

Though there's still some residual smoke impacting visibility, I think the gas must be below potent levels at this point, so I tear the mask off my face and heave in the full breaths it doesn't allow, choking on the still mildly polluted air that's also making my eyes water. I'm vulnerable, doubled over with my hands on my knees, and definitely making too much noise. I've just straightened up and tucked my mask back into my belt when a hand claps over my mouth from behind.

I startle dramatically, and my attacker uses this momentary lapse in strength to their advantage by pulling me backwards and off balance before the fear shooting through my nerves finally translates into action. I start dragging my heels, digging desperately to find purchase on the rough pavement as I'm hauled backwards into the alley. I repeatedly drive my elbows into my captor's torso, but their armor absorbs most of the impact. I force my jaw open a crack and dig my teeth into the skin of a finger, drawing a pained grunt from behind me just before I'm spun around and thrust up against the brick wall. My assailant's right hand slips a little off my mouth and onto my cheek, and I'm just about to scream for backup when my mouth is suddenly otherwise occupied by a pair of lips pressing against it.

I'm so shocked that I don't even think to push the person off or run away. The lips start moving, snapping my brain back into some semi-functional mode. My already limited night vision still mostly obscured by my tears and the lingering traces of smoke, I focus on tactile sensations to suss out what the hell is happening. The hand on my face is calloused but petite, the lips softer than I'm used to and pressing slightly upwards as though the person is craning up to reach my mouth. Small. Female. Johanna.

I kiss her back with an enthusiasm that surprises even me. Our lips sync up in slow but increasingly forceful movements, and it's only seconds before the tip of my tongue grazes her lower lip and she opens her mouth to let it slip in. My involuntary gasp draws an almost silent moan from her lips, and she takes control back, curling her tongue to stroke along mine before flicking it out to run over my teeth. A sudden tightening in my gut springs my own tongue back into action and our kiss quickly becomes all hunger and clashing teeth and sharp breaths. My right hand comes up to mimic hers by cupping her cheek and she crushes her body into me ever harder. I actually sort of resent our armor in this moment because it prevents me from feeling her curves and how they fit with mine. She releases another tiny moan into my mouth followed by a quick gasp for air from it, sending my libido skyrocketing. I mindlessly move my left hand to the small of her back, where it is sadly also impeded by armor. The bigger problem, however, is that I was still holding the barrel of my gun with that hand.

The rifle clatters to the ground and Johanna jumps back, whipping her handgun out of her belt and her face back and forth to each end of the alley. My eyes now cleared up, I finally get a good look at her. I spy her deep brown orbs and let out a small breath of relief because some miniscule part of my brain was still worried that this was some rather embarrassing case of mistaken identity. She holsters her weapon and steps closer again, her eyes still widened in alarm. Mine close as my head tips back a bit with a contented sigh. I start to open my mouth, my lips unconsciously forming her name, but she immediately covers it with hers again and swallows the word I suddenly realize I've been aching to say. To say like this, that is.

"Shhh," she breathes into my mouth. She pointedly moves her eyes side-to-side, and I nod to communicate my understanding. She starts to pull back, and I really should let her go, and I really should pick up my gun, and I really should be thinking about anything but her tongue and her breath and her taste and how I want infinitely more. I don't do any of those things. I grab the top of her bulletproof vest and yank her back into me and crash our lips together. I know this is the worst possible time to be stealing kisses, but given the volatility of Johanna's moods and desires, I am in no position to turn down such an unpredictable opportunity. And if someone happens to witness this crime, either live or on tape, I'll just plead insanity. Johanna has that effect on me. And I on her, so it seems, because she hesitates for all of one second before looping her arms around my neck and surrendering to my lips. I release her vest and bring my hands to rest on her hips, sighing and finally relaxing into the kiss. It's not as frantic or forceful this time, but every bit as passionate. The intimacy of this embrace has ignited that slowly spreading warmth in my gut that I remember from the beach, and I honestly prefer it to the instantaneous swell of desire I experienced only moments ago. This is all so overwhelming and wonderful and addictive, and I wish it had happened so much sooner.

It's Mr. Robot who finally breaks it up. "All squad members, rendezvous point moved one block south. Repeat, rendezvous one block south of original destination." Johanna pulls away and raises her eyebrows. I nod and bend down to retrieve my rifle while she reaches over her shoulder to pull hers from its holster. I figure that if the destination has been moved, it's because the original location was too dangerous, so I eschew the idea of heading down the continuation of this alley that will spit us out in-between the two intersections in question. I instead make eye contact with Johanna and point to the southeast. Johanna nods and taps twice just below her eyes, then reaches around to touch my back.

I step out into the street and scope out the scene. There's no movement and it's deadly quietly, eerily so. The two younger teenagers are still passed out on the ground, but I decide to desert them again. Even if they are considered alive in the scenario, dragging them to safety is not worth risking Johanna's life. Like she said, it's unwise to try to save everyone when it's dangerous and the odds are stacked against me. Besides, if they were alive I'd expect Peacekeepers to have come and apprehended them by now. I uneasily make my way diagonally across the street and into the very light mist of smoke remaining, not bothering with the gas mask. If the gas didn't take me down when I pulled it off before, then it shouldn't now either. I have to keep checking over my shoulder to be sure Johanna is still behind me, because even walking backwards she has the same hunter's footfalls as I do.

I make the northeast corner of the intersection I'd come from and reach behind me to lay a soft hand on Johanna's hip so she knows to stop. I peek around the corner and, seeing it's clear, grab the fabric of her uniform and give it a couple of gentle tugs before returning my hand to the trigger. I burst around the corner fully and scan it through my scope as I take my first few steps forward. It still appears to be empty, so I pick up my pace a touch, keeping my gun at the ready. I chance the occasional glance over my shoulder to confirm my partner's position while we creep ever closer. I can almost taste victory now, and start to grin despite the intensifying of my breathing in anticipation of some final threat. I'm perhaps forty feet from our destination when it occurs to me that no one seems to be there yet. Our black uniforms hardly stand out in the darkness, but I see no glints off the barrels of guns, no shadows of movement. I peer through the scope and confirm my theory with the power of magnification. Maybe Johanna and I are the only ones left. I want to relay my observations to her, but I know I can't speak. I turn my head to check on her again, just in time to see the Peacekeeper aiming a gun at my head.

I jump out of the way just as I hear the spray of gunfire, return the shots only to have him duck into a recessed doorway. I sprint the short distance to where he'd disappeared, but just as I arrive the door slams shut noisily. I reef on the handle but the damn thing won't budge. I step back and release a burst of fire onto the lock in blind hope, but when I try again I get the same result. Of course the Block is so fucking smart with tracking when our "bullets" hit each other but is too low-tech to recognize that bullets should also be able to shoot deadbolts to smithereens. I growl in frustration and kick at the heavy metal slab once before stalking back into the street.

I need to focus. Maybe there is another way in or out. Wait. Out. Part of the Peacekeepers' objective in the mission is probably to bring any captured rebel soldiers into their established territory to the north. I heard no gunfire in the street before Johanna vanished, so if she hasn't gotten herself killed in an escape attempt yet, maybe I can intercept them on the other side of the building. If I hurry.

I take off eastwards towards the nearest intersection in what is perhaps the fastest sprint of my life outside of an arena. I round the corner where the mission is supposed to end and see a fire escape on this side of the building. Even better. I explode up off the ground and just manage to wrap my fingertips around the ladder and pull it down with my weight. I clamber up the slick metal and onto the first landing of the rickety structure, then blaze up the flights of steps with complete disregard for the ruckus I'm creating. I wouldn't mind distracting some Peacekeepers from their current captive, anyway.

I reach the roof of the three-story building and bolt to the northern edge to see if I can get a bead on Johanna. Just as I arrive, the sounds of a scuffle rise up from street level and I spot Johanna grappling with two Peacekeepers near the western edge of the block. She drives the butt of one of their guns into the other's chest and sends him flying backwards, but the one whose gun she latched onto smartly lets go of it while she's doing this and tackles her to the ground while her arms are occupied. I pick off the other Peacekeeper just as he scrambles to his feet and points his weapon at the girl, but in the meantime Jo squirms out of his partner's grip and lands on top, a struggle now ensuing for the gun. I can't get a clear and safe shot at him while they're wrestling, so I run along the edge of the roof to get closer in the meantime.

I reach the northwest corner of the roof, about a third of the way down the block, just before three more Peacekeepers come charging into the alley from the west. I haven't even finished yelling, "Jo! Behind you!" before they are upon the pair and yanking her off of him. I snipe the one on the ground through the neck before he can regain control of his gun, leaving Johanna in sole possession of it. Unfortunately, one of the three reinforcements kicks it from her hands almost immediately and they finally overpower her with tight grips on her arms from behind. I pop off three desperate shots, managing only to kill one and hit another in the shoulder before they spot me and the one I shot begins returning fire.

I drop to my stomach and crawl over a few feet before propping myself up on my forearms and taking aim again. I fixate on a chink in the shooter's armor just as he points his gun directly at me. The insuppressible impulse to flinch causes my shot to fly off target but probably also saves me from death. I move once again and when I next pop my head up I notice that the burly Peacekeeper who is now manhandling Johanna on his own is backing up towards the corner with her pulled up tight against him, the other one aiming at my rooftop from behind him. My stomach curls up inside me. They are using her as a shield. What's worse, they could round the corner and be out of my sight in seconds, long before I have time to reload.

I think back to scenario's start and try to tally my trigger pulls. Three early on before I almost took out Kearns and his girl. At least four at the Peacekeeper I encountered in the street. Five more at the deadbolt. One at each of the first two I shot dead from the roof. Two at the third one. And two at the current shooter. I have no more than two shots left in this magazine. I curse myself for wasting so many rounds on the fucking lock. Talk about a dire situation. The whole rest of our squad could easily be dead, and if there's no one to delay our enemies' retreat to the north, there's no way I could get down from here in time to catch up to them. A jump from thirty feet would break my legs, and that would be a stupid move even if this were an actual battle because I'd be in no shape to give chase. So if they escape me now, Johanna is fucked.

I make the split-second decision to prioritize taking down the Peacekeeper restraining Johanna because if he falls it could buy me the time to reload, not to mention it frees her and maybe she could shoot the other one with his comrade's gun if I don't have a second bullet for him. But even killing one will be difficult with their full face shields protecting their heads and Johanna now blocking most of their bodies. Unsure if a single bullet could pierce the mask with lethal force, I instead hone in and snap a shot at a tiny gap just above the big guy's clavicle, only inches from Johanna's face.

He stays on his feet. I missed.

The numbness of shock in my brain contrasts highly with the burst of panic in my chest and gut. The crack of gunfire from the street is what kicks my mind back into action and makes me flatten on the roof again. Johanna's chances of escape just plummeted. Even if my last shot is true, assuming I do have one more, what are her chances against the shooter on her own while I reload? But I am not one to let low odds deter me, so I suck in a deep breath and try to muster all my focus and bravery. It was undoubtedly my fear of shooting Johanna that caused me to misfire. I can't let that fear deter me from saving her.

My stomach bucks violently as it suddenly hits me that there is another way to help my partner, one with much better odds of success. My whole body shudders in objection, but the most pragmatic part of my brain knows that time is of the essence and she is counting on me. So I start emptying my lungs in a bid to steady myself mentally and physically. Raise my head, peer down through my scope, fixate on my target. And shoot Johanna between the eyes.

* * *

><p>AN: Thanks to D7P for the beta read and excellent technical advice.

Updates may be a bit slower coming now because I have started working on a Peacekeeper!Jo AU as a side project. I'm really excited for it; it's fun to write in a different voice and from another character's perspective. But with the different style, I doubt it will be as time or labour intensive as this one, so hopefully it won't impede my progress on Lifeblood all too much.


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